Steel Over Shadow
by InkheartFirebringer
Summary: Elsynia; just a Fighters Guild member. Now a very harassed Hero of Kvatch. She's still not certain quite how it happened. One thing she is sure about is that she has enough to deal with without Dark Brotherhood assassins following her. Concrit welcome.
1. Alchemy and Assassins

**A/N: Well, hi. To anyone who may be reading this. I've written about three chapters of this story so far and I wanted some opinions on whether it was any good before I wrote anymore, so, as you can see, I've posted the first chapter. **

**The story will focus on the Main Quest, whilst dipping into various guild questlines. However, I'm not promising the questlines will remained completely unaltered. **

**Also, if you've come looking for a LucienxOC story, I'll save you the disappointment of reading on, since it's not happening in my story. I did consider it actually, but came to the conclusion that it's far too difficult to write a believable ****romance, while still keeping Lucien in-character. Well, far outside my writing abilities anyway. However, he will feature heavily in the story, hence the tag *pokes description bar*. **

**Hmm. I think that's about it. I've probably chased everyone off now.**

**Anyway, enjoy – hopefully – and if you make it to the bottom, please leave a review. Constructive criticism is welcomed; flames are not. **

**Disclaimer: Oblivion isn't mine. I own nothing. *sigh***

**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter One: Alchemy and Assassins**

S'drassa glanced up as an echoing bang resounded around the Leyawiin Mages Guild Hall. The room was dim, the dark wood and yellow clay walls lit only by weak, grey light filtering in through the tall windows.

_That'll be _her_ again,_ he thought resignedly. He hastily cleared his desk as footsteps echoed loudly in the entrance hall. Everything breakable was quickly placed inside chests. S'drassa had learned from previous sessions. In fact, after the first time, he had been disinclined to ever teach her again. She clearly had no talent for Alchemy whatsoever. But he did owe her.

The Khajiit glanced at a nearby display case with pride, where five beautiful blue crystals glowed with a soft light. She had asked for Alchemy lessons as payment for retrieving the crystals instead of gold and S'drassa had been so grateful that he'd accepted without a second thought.

"Greetings."

S'drassa turned around to see the young Bosmer woman standing in the doorway. Her red hair was slick and plastered to her scalp, tangled and wet. Her face – like most elves – was all sharp angles and planes; rivulets of water rolled down it, from her temple to her jaw. Her expression suggested the entire world had done her a personal insult. S'drassa thought her mood had been steadily worsening over the past three days and privately wondered what had caused her foul temper.

She wore a dark green cloak; water dripped off the saturated material and pooled on the wooden floorboards. S'drassa caught flashes of the gold-coloured armour underneath as she strode forward to stand next to his workbench.

"Hello, Elsynia," he said politely, through under the desk his tail curled in dread at the thought of spending another afternoon trying install the basics of Alchemy in the mer.

She nodded at him, her green eyes full of the same restless tension as her face. The Khajiit had discovered that the mer spoke little and, when she did, she was blunt to the point of rudeness.

Elsynia shifted and S'drassa saw the hilt of a longsword poking over her shoulder. She had an air of languid confidence in herself, underneath the tension, that spoke of her skill and experience with the blade.

Alchemy, however…

xxx

"No, not that one –!"

_Bang!_

Elsynia glowered at S'drassa, biting back a hiss of pain as she nursed her burnt fingers. The Khajiit shook his head in exasperation and transferred his attention back to the workbench, cluttered with various apparatuses and bits of ingredients. "Let's try again…"

Two hours later, Elsynia left the Leyawiin Mages Guildhall, drawing her hood up against the endless rain that seemed to plague the city. She waded through the puddles, splashing and cursing her way across the dismal streets of Leyawiin.

_Stupid, fetching Alchemy,_ she thought irately. _I should just stick to swords and fighting; that's what I'm good at._

It was hard to believe that only three weeks ago the extent of her problems consisted of deciding on how to spend her payment for the successful completion of her latest contract for the Fighters' Guild.

_I wonder how things would have turned out if __Parwen, Ah-Malz and I, hadn't decided to go to the Imperial City for a few days._

It had been a joint celebration of Elsynia's twentieth birthday and Ah-Malz's promotion from Defender to Warder within the Guild. However, after getting caught up in a drunken brawl in one of the city's many taverns, the luckless trio – along with most of the other inhabitants of the bar – had ended up spending the night in the Imperial City Prison, cooling their heels in the cells.

However, instead of spending the night in the cell and getting released in the morning, Elsynia had played host to several unexpected visitors. She didn't think she could have been any more surprised when the Emperor himself had shown up outside her cell, accompanied by three of his Blades.

And that was when her life had been abruptly been diverted from its normal course. Now, three weeks later, Elsynia had had privilege of holding the Amulet of Kings in her hands; witnessed the burning of Kvatch; ventured into the realm of Oblivion and closed a Gate; retrieved the last heir to the Septim bloodline from the destroyed city; and was now running all over Cyrodiil, hunting up a Daedric artifact for the Emperor-to-be.

And the pressure was slowly grinding her into the ground.

Elsynia hesitated at a street intersection, and then picked the one leading to the Fighters Guild. She could always return to the Three Sisters' Inn later and right now she could do with taking out her feelings on one of the practise dummies that were always kicking about the Guild Halls.

Elsynia had arrived in county Leyawiin eight days ago; already anxious about her discovery of spies sniffing around Bruma and frustrated by her failure to recover the Amulet before Mankar Camoranescaped through a Gate into his so-called 'Paradise'. At that point she had been doubting his sanity; Oblivion was the furthest thing from paradise she had ever experienced.

Then her bad mood had been further compounded by the weather. Elsynia was sick of never being able to get properly dry. The persistent dampness that clung to her clothes and skin made her uncomfortable and miserable; as a result Elsynia's temper had been getting progressively shorter ever since she had arrived here.

That, and her utter inability to grasp alchemy.

The Guild Hall loomed up out of the swirling curtains of the rain, its timber and honey-coloured clay – characteristic of Leyawiin's houses – looking dull in the miserable weather. Elsynia pushed open the door and stepped inside, shutting out the howling wind and rain with relief.

The interior was dim but spacious, lit by flickering candlelight. She acknowledged the Porter's greeting with a nod and headed instantly for the training room.

A Khajiit – S'kasha – was already there, firing smoothly at a red-and-white target painted on a circular bale of straw. Elsynia loosened the ties securing her dark green cloak at the neck and the sodden material landed on the floor at her feet with a squelch.

_I wonder if I can get a mage to enchant that for me to repel rain,_ she thought longingly. The cloak had concealed her Dwarven armour and now the gold metal gleamed wetly in the candlelight.

_And my armour too, while he's at it._

"Warm day to you, friend," greeted S'kasha, without looking away from her bow or breaking concentration.

Elsynia snorted as she unsheathed her Elven longsword with a metallic rasp. "I wish it _was_ a warm day. I hate the rain."

The Khajiit chuckled hoarsely. "Perhaps you should not linger in Leyawiin, then? The weather rarely breaks for long."

"I'm not here by choice, S'kasha; I'm running an errand," Elsynia said bluntly, taking up a stance in front of a practice dummy.

S'kasha was undeterred by her irritated tone. "I sympathise. You would like my home, I think. The deserts of Elsweyr are hot and dry."

Elsynia was unable to stop a sigh of longing. "It sounds wonderful. I would like to visit it one day."

S'kasha chuckled once more, then fell silent, focused once more on her target.

Elsynia followed her example and as the first strike of her sword bit deep into the wood, she fell gladly into the familiar rhythm of combat.

When her frustration and pent-up anger was spent, she leant against the wall, breathing more heavily with the exertion. The sweat was running off her in streams and her muscles ached with the long bout of exercise. She felt exhausted but it was a good kind of exhaustion.

S'kasha had stopped a while ago and was currently sitting in the corner of the room with a female Redguard and a male Bosmer, eating their dinner together. As Elsynia straightened up and sheathed her longsword, the Khajiit beckoned her over. "That was some impressive blade work," she said. The Redguard nodded in agreement, a glint of admiration in her eyes. "You hungry?"

An hour later, the door to the Fighters Guild banged closed behind Elsynia. She breathed in a deep lungful of cool air. Night had fallen and the streets were dark, with the occasional pool of golden lantern light illuminating the road and the nearby houses. _And the accursed rain had finally stopped!_

Elsynia set off for the Three Sisters' Inn, in a much better mood than before; a culmination of her exercise, the friendly banter over dinner and the lack of wet stuff falling from the sky.

The mer arrived at the inn and stepped inside, then exchanged a nod of greeting with the innkeeper, Shamada. Turning, Elsynia climbed the stairs and entered the room she had been staying in. It was a good room; spacious and panelled in dark wood, with decent furnishings, and above all, a very comfortable bed. At the moment the room was filled with shadows – only the faintest starlight came in through the window, making the furniture into a group of vague, shadowy outlines in the dark.

Closing the door behind her, Elsynia lit every available candle she could find and only once the walls were washed in soft candlelight, did she shed her cloak. The mer then struggled out of her suit of Dwarven armour.

Elsynia had taken to wearing it everywhere she went outdoors, even for something as simple as a trip to the Mages Guildhall, which wasn't all that far from the inn.

Maybe her multiple encounters with the Mythic Dawn were making her paranoid; but being jumped by two seemingly ordinary Dunmer women when she had passed through Cheydinhal hadn't been good for her peace of mind. It was probably one of the nastiest surprises Elsynia had ever received, when they had confronted her down an alley – her being armour-less and carrying only a shortsword – and had then summoned themselves a set of bound armour and a mace each, vowing to kill her in the name of Lord Dagon.

Elsynia had barely survived that encounter; indeed, she had likely only escaped serious injury due to the timely intervention of the city guards. So now, no matter how uncomfortable it was to wear it all the time in the cities – especially when the water crept in underneath it – she wore her Dwarven armour everywhere outside and always had her Elven longsword strapped firmly on her back.

After almost half an hour of struggling, Elsynia managed to remove all the pieces of armour. With a sigh of relief, she placed her gauntlets on the bedside table. She felt incredibly light now; it gave her the oddest impulse to jump or run, just to see how much faster she was now without the armour weighing her down.

Elsynia moved towards her pack but caught sight of herself in the mirror and frowned in dismay.

A Bosmer frowned back at her; the only clue to her half Altmer heritage was the slight golden tint to her skin. Other than that she could pass for a pure Bosmer. She had none of the High Elves' height or haughty good looks. Instead she was short – 'petite' according to her mother and sister – and averagely pretty.

However, it was the reflection of her mane of fire-red hair that had given her pause; it was matted and clumped into a huge untameable snarl by the water.

_It's getting too long again,_ she mused, tugging fruitlessly at the damp, knotted mess.

With a sigh of annoyance, Elsynia retrieved her map of Cyrodiil and a set of spare linens from her pack. After thoroughly drying herself all over with the folded cloth that had been sitting on the end of the bed, she slipped on the set of comfortable burgundy linens and banked up the fireplace.

Elsynia then sat on the rug in front of the roaring fire, attempting to both completely dry out her hair and chase the damp, lingering chill from her bones as she studied the map.

According to Martin, there were fifteen Daedric shrines. She had managed to obtain the locations of three so far; Azura's, Malacath's and Nocturnal's shrines were all now marked on her map.

She stared at the paper thoughtfully. Elsynia then drew the Skeleton Key from her pocket and turned it over in her fingers, admiring the way the firelight flickered over the Daedric artifact, giving its rich orange and royal blue colouring a luminescent glow.

She was reluctant to give it up, as selfish as that sounded. The elf couldn't count the number of times she had been thwarted by a locked chest during a dungeon crawl. Knowing that a piece of metal was all that stood between her and valuable loot was immensely frustrating – if she kept it, the Skeleton Key would compensate for her non-existent lock-picking ability.

And it wasn't like Elsynia hadn't earned it. Nocturnal had sent her to Leyawiin, where she had tracked down two Argonian thieves who had stolen Nocturnal's 'Eye'. After discovering where they had hidden the Eye of Nocturnal, she had then rode off to the back of beyond, fought her way through a cave full of trolls and other aggressive wildlife and almost drowned attempting to retrieve the Eye from an underwater niche.

So, understandably, Elsynia felt as if she had earned the right to keep such a useful reward. The only problem with this was that it meant she'd have to track down _another_ Daedric shrine and do something to earn _another _Daedric Lord's favour and subsequently, another artifact.

She sighed as she began to work on untangling the knots in her hair with her fingers.

Azura's and Malacath's shrines were about as far apart as it was possible for them to be; near Bruma and near Anvil, respectively. Unfortunately, they were also both about as far away it was possible to be from Leyawiin. Either way, the elf was in for a long trek, no matter which shrine she chose.

_I'll decide tomorrow,_ Elsynia thought wearily. _I'm so tired I can barely think straight._

After she had approached Nocturnal – whose shrine had been the nearest to her of the three at that point – she had decided there was time to stay in Leyawiin for a few more days and receive some Alchemy training from S'drassa at the local Guildhall. It was an undeniably useful talent, one which she had little skill in.

However Elsynia had already come to the decision that, no matter which shrine she visited next, she was most definitely leaving Leyawiin tomorrow. She had told S'drassa as much earlier that afternoon and had gotten the feeling that the Khajiit would be glad to see the back of her. Not that she could complain about his blatant relief. She was probably the most cranky student he'd ever had the misfortune to teach.

Elsynia shook out her now dry and mostly tangle-free hair, packed away her map and climbed to her feet. She then crossed the room and slid gratefully into bed. The warm cocoon of blankets and the softness of the mattress that she sank into felt heavenly to her tired body.

The mer lay curled up, reading _Modern Heretics_ in the hope of gleaning more information on shrine locations, until her eyes grew heavy. Setting the book aside, she rolled over and closed her eyes. She was just starting to doze, on the verge of sleep, when she realised she had forgotten to blow out the candles on the windowsill.

With a quiet groan, Elsynia rolled back over and up onto her feet… and came face-to-face with a hooded figure clad in close-fitting armour as black as the void.

It was hard to say who was more startled. Elsynia certainly hadn't been expecting it and the assassin – the dagger that they held unsheathed in one hand left no doubt as to their purpose here – had obviously thought her deeply asleep.

Elsynia recovered faster by a split second and it saved her life. She was already moving when the assassin threw the dagger and so it buried itself up to the hilt in her shoulder instead of her throat.

The searing pain splintered through her shoulder and upper left arm; she gritted her teeth to fight back the agonised scream threatening to tear from her throat.

Instead Elsynia threw herself behind the chest of drawers, a second dagger clatteringly harmlessly off the wall behind her, where her head had been only a moment before. Her hand reached for where she had left her Elven longsword, only to find it no longer there. While she had been dodging the second dagger, the assassin had kicked it under the bed.

Elsynia was swearing under her breath in the foulest language she knew, when she heard a chuckle. "Come out, come out, little elf. I promise I'll make it quick."

The patronising tone ignited her temper; white-hot fury eclipsed her rising fear. With one swift movement Elsynia rose and hurtled herself out from behind the chest of drawers. She collided with the assassin in a tackle, sending them both crashing to the floor. Before he – his voice had been undeniably male – could bring his dagger to bear, Elsynia sprang to her feet and dashed for her pack.

There was no time to retrieve the longsword from under the bed; instead she snatched her secondary blade, Chillrend, which had been poking out from the top of the pack. Quickly, Elsynia swung around to face the assassin, who had already regained his feet and was swiftly closing in on her.

He no doubt wanted to finish this quickly; they were making rather a lot of noise and it wouldn't be long before they were interrupted.

Elsynia brought Chillrend up in a block and the assassin's glass dagger skittered uselessly off her sword. She went on the offensive, the longer reach of her blade suddenly giving her the advantage. Fighting in such close quarters with a sword was difficult – especially with her injured left shoulder hampering her and sending jolts of pain through her with every swing – but blades were what Elsynia knew best. She had been training with them ever since she had been big enough to hold one and she only needed to keep him at bay, to prevent him getting close enough to use the dagger.

A slash of her shortsword tore the armour on his shoulder and bit into the flesh. Elsynia heard him hiss and stagger slightly as the enchantment on the blade took its toll, frost magicka leaping from sword to skin.

The small moment when he was knocked off balance was all the opening that Elsynia needed. Ducking under his outstretched arm, she spun and then slashed savagely across the back of the assassin's legs, severing his hamstring tendons.

Unable to support his weight anymore, he crashed to the ground, legs rendered useless by her crippling blow. In a flash Elsynia was on him, knees pinning his arms to the floor and Chillrend at his throat.

"_I'll _make it quick. Who hired you?" she demanded, incensed. With one swift movement, the elf yanked back his concealing hood. The dim light revealed a young Imperial male – not much older than her – with surprisingly handsome features, bright blond hair and cold steel-grey eyes.

He merely sneered at her, and despite her anger Elsynia couldn't help but reluctantly admire his lack of fear.

"_Who?_" she demanded again, her green eyes flashing in fury as she pressed Chillrend harder under his chin.

He gave a barely perceptible flinch as the blade dug in hard enough to draw blood and the frost enchantment flashed along Chillrend's length in a blaze of white light.

"Nobody hired _me_," he rasped, every word causing the sword to cut a little more into his throat and making a little more blood trickle down his neck. His cold eyes still laughed mockingly at her. "They hired the Dark Brotherhood."

"That wasn't my question," Elsynia snapped, suppressing the instinctive surge of fear that the Brotherhood's name inspired. She already guessed as much about who he owed allegiance to. There weren't many freelance assassins in Cyrodiil.

However, despite her distinct advantage here, there was something unnerving about this man. Perhaps it was the way he hadn't lost composure at all. He was somehow still as coolly unruffled and frightening, pinned to the floor and injured, as he had been when he was attacking her.

The man laughed mirthlessly. "The client's name is Else God-Hater."

For a moment, Elsynia was just surprised he had answered her. Then his reply sank in. "_What?_"

_Else God-Hater? Else? _The Nord swordswoman who stayed at the West Weald Inn in her home city of Skingrad? Whom she chatted with on occasion about the finer points of blade-work? _That_ Else?

Elsynia was stunned, frozen in place for an instant with an odd sense of betrayal. _Why?_

Her moment of distraction was all the assassin needed. Smirking, he replied, "Too bad you won't live long enough to do anything about her."

With a powerful jerk, he freed one arm out from under her knee and knocked Chillrend away from his throat, tearing it right out of her slackened grip.

Elsynia instantly snapped back to herself, furious at herself for losing focus for even a second, let alone allowing him to disarm her. The next moment, pain erupted in her shoulder. The Imperial had torn out the dagger still embedded in her left shoulder and blood poured from the wound, drenching her shirt.

The elf leapt to her feet, barely avoiding a second wound from the dagger and frantically grabbed for Chillrend, which had slid away across the floor. A hand closed around her ankle, yanking off her feet and Elsynia was brought crashing back to the ground. She squirmed forward, her straining fingertips closing over the edge of the enchanted shortsword just as a blade sliced across her ankle, burning a line of new pain into her flesh.

Almost immediately, Elsynia felt her strength draining away with frightening rapidity as a cold sensation stabbed up through her leg; like shards of ice were flowing in her veins instead of blood. _Poison._

Dread clawed at her stomach and Elsynia twisted in an attempt to free herself from the assassin's iron grip on her ankle. Slewing around brought her close enough to him to wield Chillrend and she brought the shortsword down to cut off the hand fastened around her ankle just as the Imperial drove his poisoned dagger deep into her right wrist.

Their loud yells of pain came simultaneously; Elsynia had finally broken his indifferent composure and his face was twisted into a mask of pain and cold rage as he clutched at the stump of his left hand. The elf herself was panting, cradling her mangled right hand, barely able to think past the pain of the shattered bones and severed tendons.

Swearing, the Imperial assassin attempted to crawl towards her, despite what must have been blinding agony from his crippled legs and missing hand.

Elsynia, maddened by pain and fury, didn't give him the chance to strike again. Lifting Chillrend despite the intense pain in her left shoulder, she drove the sword through his chest and the man died with a spray of blood and a last rasping breath.

The poison was spreading even faster now; she could feel the ice flowing up her arm from her butchered wrist. Crawling on hands and knees, she somehow reached her pack, the room blurry and swaying wildly around her.

Elsynia searched desperately through her potions, her hands now shaking uncontrollably as her nerves began to spasm. A potion of fire shield fell from her fingers to smash on the floor next to her, shimmering violet liquid pooling on the floorboards amongst the darker-hued blood.

Finally, with wildly trembling hands, the elf located a cure poison potion and hastily gulped down it, spilling half of it over herself in her haste. Almost immediately, Elsynia felt the ice receding, chased away by the warmth of the potion but as the pain of the poison fled, she felt the agony of her shoulder wound and mangled wrist return full force.

For the next few minutes all she could think about was gulping down as many of her healing potions as she could. Eventually, Elsynia reached a point where she could think past the pain and set about healing the rest of her injuries with Restoration magicka.

It was when she was in the middle of this that the door to her room slammed open and five city guards spilled in, swords drawn, led by Caelia Draconis, captain of the Leyawiin Guard. The woman's sharp eyes scanned the wrecked room, taking in the scene at a glance; the bloodstained and clearly exhausted elf wreathed in the white glow of Restoration magicka and the black armour-clad Imperial lying dead on the floor.

Draconis met the mer's wary but fatigued eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Well. I'm sure this will be an interesting story."

xxx

Elsynia mounted her horse at dawn. The bay mare snorted bad-temperedly and she patted her absentmindedly, "I know, Snowflake. Don't worry, girl; we're leaving this damp place right now."

Elsynia had been escorted to the Leyawiin City Watch Barracks, accompanied by Draconis and two other guards who had lugged the assassin's body between them.

A session of intense questioning had then ensued on what exactly had transpired in the inn room; she'd hardly been able to deny killing him – her sword impaling his body like meat on a spit was pretty damning evidence. However when Adamus Phillida, retired Imperial Legion Commander, had appeared from another part of the barracks he instantly had identified the armour the assassin wore as that of a member of the Dark Brotherhood.

"I should know," he had said, grinning happily at the sight of the corpse. "Those bastards have tried on kill me on more than one occasion."

Draconis had then graciously offered Elsynia the use of a bodyguard for the rest of the duration of her stay in Leyawiin. She had declined. Her original intention had been to leave the next day anyway and an assassination attempt was hardly likely to convince her to stay longer.

Elsynia was brought back to the present as Snowflake nudged her leg. "Okay, we're leaving," she muttered, turning the horse to face the main road leading up the coast to Bravil, and then onto Skingrad.

The shock and fear of the attack had faded and left behind only anger. Elsynia hadn't been able to get out of the barracks fast enough; white-hot fury sang through her veins, demanding vengeance for the attempt on her life.

_Sorry, Martin,_ she thought, smiling grimly as she spurred Snowflake forward. _That Daedric artifact will just have to wait. I have an appointment to keep with Else God-Hater._

**A/N: So yeah. There you go. I know there was quite a lot of information but stuff needed explaining. Anyway, if you've got this far, please leave a review. You know you want to. ;D**


	2. Friends, Family, and Spilled Blood

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm glad that you think my writing is worth it. Any writer will tell you that feedback is one of the best things in the world. xD**

**This chapter was originally two chapters but I put them together because A) It seemed too short, and B) Not enough happened in the second part to justify it being a chapter in its own right.**

**Also, it's only been a week and a day since I posted the first chapter; this update rate will slow down once I run out of prewritten chapters. Sorry. But this one**_** is**_** about 2000 words longer than Chapter 1.**

**Please do continue to review. Remember; constructive criticism is welcomed, flames are not. **

**Disclaimer: Oblivion isn't mine. I have not come into the ownership of a huge gaming company overnight.  
**

* * *

**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter Two: Friends, Family, and Spilled Blood**

Elsynia swung herself out of the saddle and thrust Snowflake's reins at the ostler. The bay mare nickered tiredly and she gave the horse a gentle stroke as the ostler led her away to the stables, through the mud. The bad weather seemed to have followed her from Leyawiin and an incessant curtain of rain hissed down from the slate-grey sky.

Turning, the mer strode away, heading for the great gate into Skingrad. She had ridden Snowflake hard, only stopping for brief snatches of sleep and bites to eat, before rising and continuing onwards. She had managed to cut the journey from Leyawiin to Skingrad from three days to two and both she and the horse were verging on utter exhaustion.

But the ride was still long enough for her rage to have abated slightly. Elsynia knew she had a short temper and that it was easy to make her anger flare. But in the same way, it died down just as easily; she found it difficult to hold onto her anger for long, to hold a grudge. Her rage had subsided enough to think, for doubt to creep in. The assassin might have been lying about the identity of his 'client'. Maybe the Dark Brother had thrown Else's name at her to confuse her.

A tiny bit of hope had sprung up, born from her uncertainty, and had caused her fury to simmer down a little more. Elsynia didn't _want_ to believe it. Else had been one of her many instructors in blade-work and Elsynia knew her well enough to consider her a friend. She couldn't think of anything that she had done that would have made the Nord woman send a Dark Brotherhood assassin after her.

Elsynia passed through the door into Skingrad at a quick pace and walked swiftly under the bridge connecting the east and west parts of the city; the familiar sense of home washed over her despite the situation. She headed up the steep, cobbled road and turned off into the west part. The West Weald Inn was almost directly ahead of her. She reached the door, drew in a deep breath – anger and hope warring within her – and then threw it open.

The bar went quiet, people shifting around in their seats to look at the newcomer who had made such a noisy entrance. However, Elsynia only had eyes for one person.

Else God-Hater was leaning at the bar, clearly talking casually to the innkeeper, Erina. At least, she had been. Her face paled as she recognised the mer in the doorway and the Nord woman straightened up, a hand flying to the hilt of her shortsword. "You!" she snarled.

Elsynia's heart sank, the pain of betrayal striking all the more painfully as her fragile hope died. Else's reaction had all but confirmed the Dark Brother's words.

"Surprised to see me, Else?" Elsynia's voice was cold, rage bubbling back up under the surface. She took a couple of paces into the room.

Else's face twisted in a mix of fear and anger. "Yes, actually. So those fetchers failed to do the job? I thought the Dark Brotherhood were meant to be professionals."

The woman was practically spitting with fury and didn't even seem to notice the murmurs breaking out in the otherwise silent crowd of drinkers, who were watching the unexpected lunchtime entertainment with rapt attention. The innkeeper went white and vanished out the backdoor behind the bar.

"Unfortunately for you, they underestimated me." There was no need to mention that the assassination attempt would have likely succeeded and she would have been killed in her sleep, if not for the simple stroke of luck that caused her remember that she had forgotten to blow out the candles. "The assassin also happened to drop your name, to enrage me, I think. Unluckily for you, I survived the attempt on my life and with it, the knowledge of who sent those fetchers after me. What I want to know, Else, is why. What have I done to you? Hell, I thought we were at the very least friends." Elsynia was unable to able to keep the betrayal and hurt from her voice.

Else drew her shortsword. "We _were_ friends. But you threw that away when you cast your lot with the Septim bastard. Not even old friendships can come in the way of Lord Dagon's plans and we were ordered to kill the Hero of Kvatch on sight. I liked you, Elsynia. I didn't want to have to kill you myself so I hired the Brotherhood and told them to make it quick and painless. You just screwed it up by escaping. Now I'll have to kill you myself."

"Not if I get there first." Elsynia's fury had reached the point where she could barely speak coherently enough to grind out the reply. Only the fact that Else jerked back at the last second saved her from instant decapitation. The elf's longsword whistled through the space in front of the Nord woman instead, the tip raking across the shoulders of Else's shirt and slicing open the skin.

Else stared in shock at the blood streaming from the long, shallow wound, staining her shirt crimson; then she let out a roar of rage and brought her shortsword up to meet Elsynia's second strike.

The clash reverberated through the mer's hands; she barely felt it, consumed as she was by rage. She forced the Nord to retreat with a flurry of powerful blows, Else barely blocking each strike. Elsynia was dimly aware of the inn's patrons scrambling to get out of their way, some shrieking and fleeing out of the door.

Else kicked a chair at the elf and then darted around the far side of a table, backing away to put some space between them. She raised a hand and with a swirl of Conjuration magicka, summoned the by-now familiar Mythic Dawn armour. A matching longsword appeared in her hand as she dropped the steel shortsword.

Elsynia dodged the chair and vaulted over the table, the wood splintering under her heavy Dwarven boots; the Nord only just brought her new sword up in time to deflect the mer's next blow, which would have removed her head had it landed.

Else then struck down with her summoned sword, aiming low at the legs in an attempt to cripple her opponent. Elsynia met the blade with her longsword; flicking her wrist in a complex twist, she disarmed the Nord woman and in the same fluid motion, punched her sword through Else's breastplate. The summoned armour dissolved without a trace. The other swordswoman gaped at her, horror and fear etched on her face, before her eyes glazed over and her body went limp.

The mer withdrew her Elven longsword, stained scarlet, and the corpse slumped to the floor, blood pooling on the flagstones. She stared at Else's body, the hot anger draining slowly away. In the background, there was a faint tinkle of broken glass and a stunned whimper from one of the other tavern-goers.

The main door suddenly flew open and slammed into the wall with a resounding bang. The Guard Captain, Dion, strode in, flanked by four other guards. Elsynia could just see the white face of the innkeeper over his shoulder, hovering nervously.

The Redguard's sharp eyes took in the scene, and then locked onto the swordswoman. The elf sighed inwardly and sheathed her longsword in an attempt to appear less threatening.

_Twice in three days? I seem to be developing a habit for this._

xxx

Elsewhere, rain was also falling on Bravil. It held the title of the poorest and most crime-ridden city in the whole of Cyrodiil, and on days like this, it certainly looked it.

A black figure slipped quietly through the muddy streets, nearly indistinguishable from the background amongst the swirling clouds of mist and rain.

In a house in the better part of Bravil, a Bosmer sighed and put down his quill. His front room was in darkness, apart from the soft, red-gold glow of the fireplace and a single candle on his desk. The silver embroidery on his emerald green shirt glinted in the firelight and the same light cast his features into shadow. His expression, for once, was unguarded and frustrated worry showed on his face.

There was a light rap at the door; so quiet, if he hadn't been expecting it, he could have dismissed it as his imagination. At once the Wood Elf straightened up, unreadable mask sliding back into place over his face, hiding his emotions. "Come in," he called, without raising his voice.

The door swung open and a black-robed figure slipped inside, accompanied by a gust of cold wind and a patter of raindrops. The anonymous figure reached up with gloved hands to lower its hood. The firelight fell on the face of an Imperial man of about thirty years of age. He was handsome in a sharp kind of way; with coldly intelligent dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail. His walk had the fluid, deadly grace of a predator, as he moved to stand in front of the Bosmer's desk.

"Greetings, Most Honoured Listener Ungolim," murmured the man, dipping his head slightly in respect.

"Greetings, Speaker Lachance," Ungolim responded, keeping the disdain he felt for the Imperial from his voice. Lachance was always outwardly polite and completely impassive in both voice and face; but Ungolim got the feeling that Lachance was inwardly scornful towards him. "Please, have a seat."

Lucien sat down in an empty chair, watching as the Listener got up and poured himself some wine. "Would you like something to drink?" asked Ungolim.

The Imperial smirked inwardly; the question was merely part of the game they all played. No assassin would drink from the stores of another assassin; especially with the current state of the Brotherhood. His mood darkened abruptly with that thought and he wondered if that was why the Listener had summoned him; if, finally, they had some sort of confirmation one way or another on the rumours of a traitor in the ranks.

"No, thank you," he said, watching as the Bosmer re-seated himself behind the desk.

Ungolim took a deep draught of the wine. The dark red liquid threw sparkles of ruby light across the wood. He placed the goblet back on the table, then leant back in his seat and met Lucien's expressionless gaze with one of his own. "Your Silencer is dead," he said abruptly.

It took all of the Speaker's considerable self-control to keep his face smooth. Shock, both at the suddenness of the revelation and the information itself, coursed through him. Anger followed swift on its heels.

"I see. And is this the work of the supposed traitor in the Brotherhood?" he asked evenly.

A shadow crossed Ungolim's face at the mere mention of the possibility of a traitor. "No," the Wood Elf said stiffly. "Blanchard was killed by his mark."

Dismay rippled through Lucien. He had taken on Blanchard as his Silencer only recently and the man had well-deserved the position; he had been an efficient and lethal killer. His only weakness was his overconfidence – but he had been young, barely twenty, and Lucien had regarded that as a flaw which could eventually be overcome with time. Time that Blanchard no longer had.

Cold anger rose inside Lucien. Blanchard's death reflected badly on his Speaker; especially since the Silencer before him had died in suspicious circumstances not too long ago. And more than that, he had liked the other Imperial. He had considered Blanchard a friend. And an assassin had few that he could truly call friend.

"Should I assign another Dark Brother or Sister to fulfil his uncompleted contract, then?" Lucien asked. He had already decided that he would take the job himself. His fingers clenched, wishing for the dagger that they were so familiar with; in his head, the blade was already sinking deeply into the flesh of the offending person, their blood spilling over his gloved hands and their choked cry ringing in his ears. If the mark was skilled enough to defeat Blanchard, then they ought to be a worthy enough challenge for the Speaker.

"No."

Lucien blinked. "No?"

"That is what I said."

The Imperial felt a twinge of anger at the slight edge of sarcasm in Ungolim's voice but didn't allow it to show on his face. "Why not, Honourable Listener?"

Ungolim settled back in his seat. His brown eyes shone orange with the reflected firelight and his hair, swept back off his face, gleamed bronze instead of chestnut. "Because, Speaker Lachance, the contract has been rendered void."

It took Lucien a mere second to assemble the pieces. "The _client_ has also been killed?" he asked, unable to keep a little incredulity from slipping into his tone. If there was no client, there was no money; if there was no money, then there was no contract. Simple as that.

"Yes," the Bosmer nodded. "Killed, in fact, by the target of the contract. This is partly the reason I called you here, Lachance. Blanchard's former mark is to be recruited into the Brotherhood. You will be handling her case."

Lucien was too busy turning over the information in his head to register this immediately. The mark had killed both the assassin hired to eliminate them, and then sought out the person who had employed the Brotherhood and killed them too. A worthy opponent indeed.

He tried to recall who the subject of the contract had been; after passing it onto Blanchard, he had given it little thought.

_An elf,_ he remembered. _A half-breed; part High Elf, part Wood Elf. Female. Young. About Blanchard's age, actually. _The Imperial silently itched with disappointment that he would have to refrain from killing her in turn.

Lucien almost frowned as he realised something. It was unusual to be summoned for a meeting with the Listener. Even considering the atypical fact that this prospective new member had executed his Silencer, Ungolim still should have sent the information in a letter.

"Partly the reason?" he questioned, remembering the Bosmer's previous statement.

Ungolim sighed. "Unfortunately, aside from Blanchard's death, there is another complication. When the Night Mother spoke to me, to pass on this information, she spoke at length about the necessity of this elf joining the Brotherhood. She was very…insistent…about the matter." There was a very slight inflection in his voice that suggested this had not been at all pleasant.

"The Mother said that it is imperative that she joins us; that the very survival of the Brotherhood depends upon her."

Lucien stared at the Listener. Outwardly the Imperial was unaffected, but inside he was incredulous. "Surely you jest."

"I wish that I did." Weariness showed on Ungolim's face for a second; then his expressionless mask slid back into place.

Lucien tapped a gloved finger thoughtfully against his chair, hiding a smirk. His control of his face always had been better than the Bosmer's. "Did she say why?"

"The Night Mother refused to divulge anything further; other than insisting that it is this elf's destiny. She is still displeased with us from a fortnight ago, when we tried to consult her about the possibility of a traitor."

Well, he had known that. When the Black Hand had attempted to ask the Night Mother about the subject, they had been angrily rebuffed. They had been left with definite impression that she expected them to sort it out themselves.

"Perhaps the two are linked," Lucien suggested, making the leap in intuition.

Ungolim considered it. "Maybe so. Perhaps this is the Night Mother's way of giving us help. This elf might help us find the traitor – if there is one – thereby eliminating the threat to the Brotherhood and ensuring its continued survival." He frowned. "Though I find it hard to believe that one traitor could do enough to seriously damage our organisation."

Lucien nodded, his agile mind jumping ahead through theories. It was like the Night Mother to be subtle about these things. She would not help them outright by simply pointing out the traitor. She was more likely to give them the tools and expect them to do the job themselves.

Ungolim appeared absorbed in thought for another minute, and then shook himself. "In any case, here is the information you need," he said, picking up an envelope from a pile of parchment. Lucien reached across the desk to receive it. "It has the elf's location and all the information we have been able to dig up on her."

Lucien nodded and stowed it in his robes. He would read it later. "Walk always in the shadow of Sithis, Listener."

Ungolim returned the farewell, and then turned back to his paperwork. The front door swung shut quietly behind Lucien and he vanished into the mist and rain of Bravil.

xxx

The door of the West Weald Inn banged shut behind Elsynia. She blew out a tired sigh and began trudging through the rainy streets of Skingrad; travel-sore and battle-weary. Now that the anger and adrenaline had left her, her exhaustion had returned with a vengeance. She reached up to brush her sodden hair from her eyes and to her dismay, Elsynia noticed a spot of scarlet still on her gauntlet, bright against the gold of her armour.

She grimaced as her thoughts went back to her clash with Else. It really hadn't been much of a fight. She had long since surpassed the Nord in both experience and skill with a blade.

Luckily for the mer, an entire roomful of people had borne witness to fact that Else had admitted to hiring the Dark Brotherhood to kill Elsynia and had drawn her sword first, threatening to finish the job herself.

The swordswoman wiped the last splash of Else's blood from her gauntlet. She had only just been released from the guards' custody. She had spent the past half-hour being questioned by Dion on the entire story and had ended up rehashing everything, including the assassination attempt in Leyawiin.

After they had deemed her free to go, the only thing Elsynia could think about was how utterly drained she was – both physically and emotionally – so she had decided to head for the privacy of her house, instead of going to the Skingrad Fighters Guildhall. All the mer wanted was a hot soak in her own bath and a long sleep in her own bed. She was tired from the hard ride to Skingrad and lack of sleep along the way; and inside she was cold, anger burnt out and betrayal weeping quietly in a corner.

In fact, the whole of Skingrad seemed to match her mood. The walls and buildings were all built of timber and grey stone, which looked pretty in sunlight but merely seemed depressing when it was overcast. She traipsed past the Mages Guild Hall and even the normally bright blue banners seemed to be duller, limp and sodden from the constant downpour.

Elsynia sighed heavily, depression dragging at her. She had had no idea; not the slightest notion that Else had been a member of the Mythic Dawn. She had known of Else's extreme dislike for the Nine Divines, of course. Everyone who spoke to the Nord for more than a few minutes had been made aware of that. But she never would have guessed Else's hatred ran so deep that she would join a cult hell-bent on unleashing a destructive Daedric Prince onto Nirn.

After a few minutes, Elsynia drew in a deep breath to gather herself and straightened her spine.

_I'm not going to think about this anymore, not until morning, when I don't feel like I'm going to collapse at any second,_ she told herself firmly.

The elf quickened her pace as she spotted her house up ahead. _Home, finally_.

Elsynia still considered it home, despite the fact more often than not she stayed in the Fighters Guild Hall when she came back to Skingrad and – technically – it belonged to her parents. Despite this, she was still probably the most frequent occupant of the house; either that or her sister was. However, she could honestly say that her mother rarely set foot in the place and she didn't think her father had _ever_ been there.

Alawen was a master of marksmanship and had achieved the high rank of Guardian in the Fighters Guild. Subsequently, her mother was usually either out on contract for the Guild or out in the wilderness – at a small place called Troll Candle Camp – hunting deer.

Since they were babies, Alawen had always taken both Elsynia and her little sister Nerissa with her to the camp. When they had gotten old enough to handle being in the house by themselves for days at a time, she had given them the choice of whether they wanted to go with her or not. Elsynia had usually chosen to stay in Skingrad. Her skill with a bow was mediocre at best and she had little inclination to just sit around in the campsite all day while Alawen hunted in the surrounding forests.

So Elsynia had developed a fierce independent streak from a young age, nurtured by weeks of living in Skingrad in alone. She hadn't minded. Of course, the mer had frequently missed her mother and sister but whenever the loneliness had seemed too much and the house had seemed too empty, she had simply wandered over to the Fighters Guildhall where – thanks to her mother – she was always welcome.

Nerissa, on the other hand, was a budding archer and had usually chosen to accompany Alawen to Troll Candle Camp. Elsynia had been overjoyed on the weeks that Nerissa had chosen to stay in Skingrad instead and she remembered vividly the days spent running through the streets, chasing imaginary bandits and climbing walls and rooftops with her younger sister.

Now that Elsynia was older, she could be glad that her sister's talent lay with the bow and that the younger elf could be just as happy hunting with their mother as she could be spending time with her older sister. Even before the Oblivion Crisis had reared its ugly head, working for the Fighters Guild had taken her all over Cyrodiil and she wouldn't have been at home if Nerissa had preferred staying in Skingrad all the time.

Elsynia skirted a deep puddle and almost tripped over a loose cobblestone. Straightening, the mer gazed along the street. Skingrad seemed deserted; very sensibly, most people were indoors, avoiding the rain. The thought of a hot bath and being able to change out of her armour into something warm and dry spurred her into a faster walk towards the house.

Her father would definitely not be at home. Henantier was a mage at the Arcane University and, as soon as she was old enough, Elsynia had been the one to make the journey to visit _him_. Not that she blamed either her father or her mother for their absence in her life. She had no doubt that they loved both her and Nerissa; they had made that fact plain. But they were equally passionate about other things. For Alawen, it was the Fighters Guild and her archery. For Henantier, it was the Mages Guild and magic. It was impossible for them to devote all their attention to both their children and their respective pursuits.

Privately, the swordswoman had always been rather astonished that her parents had torn themselves away from their work to get together long enough – not once, but twice – to conceive a child. Or even get married in the first place. She could personally remember seeing them both together only three times in her entire life.

Elsynia climbed the steps and moved under the stone canopy over the huge front door to her house. It was a beautiful two-storey building; constructed of the same timber and silver-grey stone as the rest of the houses in Skingrad and draped in vines of morning glory.

The pretty purple blooms trailed over the stonework in front of the mer, the flowers twined in an arch over the doorway. She reached out and touched a fingertip to one silken blossom. Elsynia couldn't feel the delicate petals through her gauntlets, but she knew the sensation well enough to know exactly how it would feel if she could. They had always been her favourites; a smile curved her lips as she remembered helping Nerissa plant the seedlings on one sunlit afternoon.

The swordswoman sighed, dropping her hand from the morning glory. Reaching out, she caught hold of the heavy iron ring, pulled open the front door of her house – and was abruptly aware that something was wrong. She stood in the doorway, dripping rain onto the polished wooden floorboards, trying to figure out what irregularity her subconscious had picked up on.

The hallway was dimly lit by the soft grey light coming in through the windows. The walls were made of the same silver-grey stone as the outside of the house but were draped in wall hangings, patterned in a dark, forest green and a strong, rich, red. The cloth made the corridor look warm, instead of austere.

Then the elf realised; the front door had been unlocked. There was a quiet noise from down the hallway and her head snapped up, ears straining to catch even a whisper of sound. There it was again. It sounded like the quiet creak of a cupboard door opening and shutting.

Anger leapt hot in her chest. A thief?

Elsynia quietly closed the front door, shutting out the noise of the wind and rain. Silence fell in hallway again, disturbed only by the quiet sounds of the intruder. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.

The swordswoman padded down the hallway, quickly receiving a first-hand example of exactly why it was that people who favoured stealth in combat wore light armour. Her Dwarven armour – excellent in battle – was much less useful when attempting to sneak up on a thief. She winced at every clank.

Stopping at the kitchen door, the mer peered around the frame. Someone knelt with their back to her, clearly female, judging by the shape of her figure under the suit of lightweight chainmail. There was a quiver of silver arrows and a silver bow strapped to her back. She had her head inside a cupboard, rummaging through its contents.

Elsynia straightened up, smiling broadly in recognition as her hand fell away from the hilt of her longsword. Leaning casually against the doorframe, she spoke loudly. "So. _That's_ where all my food keeps disappearing to. No wonder there's never anything left when I come home."

The person yelped in shock and banged her head on the inside of the cupboard. The elf dissolved into laughter as the other woman straightened up, wincing and holding the top of her head.

She was a Bosmer, and tall, for one of their race. Even with Elsynia's Altmer blood, she still was half a head shorter than the other elf – a fact that had never failed to provoke teasing.

"Elsynia!" she exclaimed, warm brown eyes wide with surprise and delight. The next second the swordswoman was tackled to the ground, her armour making a loud crash as she hit the floor.

"I was so worried!" the other elf bubbled happily as she enveloped her in a hug. "What happened? Did Baurus have any information on the Mythic Dawn after all?"

"Hello, Parwen," said Elsynia, smiling at her friend's concern as she hugged her back. "It's good to see you too." People found it hard to believe that Parwen was the older of the two elves; her sunny disposition and enthusiastic cheerfulness made her seem a lot younger and less mature than twenty-six.

The archer beamed at her. "Ah-Malz and I were worried."

Elsynia wriggled pointedly, trapped by both Parwen and the weight of her armour. "Well if you let me up, I'll be happy to tell you all about it."

"Hmm…" the Bosmer pretend to deliberate for a few moments so Elsynia grinned and blew in the other elf's pointed ear. Parwen squealed and recoiled enough for the swordswoman to heave her off to the side.

"Oh, you horrible fetcher," she pouted, sitting up as the other mer lurched to her feet, laughing. She turned and offered a hand.

Parwen grabbed it and hauled herself up too, grumbling as she blew her hair out of her eyes. Her hazelnut-brown hair was free from its usual bun and cascading over her shoulders in loose curls. It fell to her elbows and framed a strikingly beautiful face.

"Parwen," Elsynia said, a thought occurring suddenly. "Not that I mind, but why are you in my house?"

The archer grinned again. "Babysitting."

Elsynia frowned for half a second, and then her expression cleared. "Ah. Nerissa is here?"

Parwen nodded, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms. "Your mother came charging into the Guildhall, Nerissa in tow, said that there was somewhere she had to be and promptly put me in charge of your sister. Nerissa wanted to come back here, so –" the Bosmer spread her hands. "Back we came."

"And you decided you'd just raid my kitchen, did you?" the other elf asked with mock indignation. "Without even asking?"

The archer pouted, faking a hurt expression. "Friends don't _need_ to ask, Elsynia. Besides, Alawen gave me free rein."

Elsynia just shook her head. "My mother does that far too often." She couldn't contain her smile though. Parwen's mere presence was leeching the tension and stress out of her and letting her ignore the hurt Else God-Hater's betrayal had caused. "Anyway," the swordswoman said briskly, straightening up. "Where _is _Nerissa?"

The Bosmer scratched the back of her head with a gauntleted hand. "Eh, having a bath, I think. She was quite disappointed to have to come back to Skingrad early – she kept complaining the whole way from the Guildhall to here that the city is boring when you're not here." She grinned. "Missing her big sister."

Elsynia grinned back, warmth flaring in her chest. She loved her sister and was fiercely protective of the thirteen-year-old elf. "Well, I suppose we could start making something for dinner then. Nerissa will be hungry; she always is."

Parwen looked indignant. "I knew that! I'm not _completely _useless. That's what I was doing when you sneaked up on me."

Elsynia snorted. "Uh-huh. I made enough noise to wake the dead, clanking up the hallway. Not my fault you're practically deaf."

The swordswoman and the archer bickered good-naturedly as they hunted through the cupboards for enough vegetables to make Sheppard's pie. Parwen then went out the back door to the woodshed for kindling while Elsynia went out into the hallway. Walking to the end of the corridor, she paused at the door to the basement, raising her eyebrows. A piece of parchment was pinned to the door:

_Elsynia, dear, is there a particular reason for the_

_sack of bloody Daedra hearts in the basement?_

The note was written in her mother's slanted, elegant script. "Oops," Elsynia muttered. She'd forgotten about those. She hunted up a quill and some ink and scrawled a reply underneath:

_Yes._

Leaving it at that, she opened the door and descended the steps into the basement. Her breath billowed like smoke in the cold air.

The room was huge; a stone floor and walls made it naturally cool. A series of crates and barrels were grouped haphazardly against one wall but the majority of the room was filled with row upon row of wooden shelves. Most of these shelves were stacked full of slabs of venison; the results of Alawen and Nerissa's hunting efforts. They caught far more than they could ever eat and about once a month either Elsynia or Alawen took it all to market to sell.

To keep the meat from going bad, Alawen had had the shelves enchanted with a permanent frost spell. The wood had turned white, crusted with frost crystals, and the ice had formed a thin layer across the flagstone floor.

The swordswoman walked carefully, the slippery ice cracking under her armoured feet. The fact that the spell had turned the basement into a virtual ice cave had made it the perfect choice for storing the Daedra hearts. It prevented them from spoiling before she had the time to take them to an alchemist to sell.

After Elsynia had closed the Oblivion gate at Kvatch, she and Martin had passed through Skingrad on the way to Weynon Priory. It had only been a fifteen minute detour to drop off the Daedra hearts at her house.

It was second nature to her now to collect alchemy ingredients during her adventuring in forts, ruins and caves. Even though they were useless to her personally, one of her friends, Tirion, was a mage at the Arcane University who had asked her to collect any ingredients that she happened across. The elf grinned to herself as she navigated through the shelves. He would be proud that his constant badgering had worked to the extent that she was even harvesting alchemy ingredients while in the planes of Oblivion.

Elsynia stopped at a rack of venison and loaded up her arms with the meat. She glanced around, just to check. The sack of Daedra hearts was still in the corner, black-red blood staining the rough cloth. Still where she'd hurriedly tossed it last time she'd been here.

The elf climbed back up the stairs and kicked the door shut behind her. Going back into kitchen, Elsynia found that Parwen had already lit the wood under the stove and was chopping vegetables expertly.

"What took you so long?" Parwen asked, grinning and looking up briefly. "Get lost?"

"Ha-ha," said Elsynia, dumping the venison on the enormous kitchen table. "If I went any faster in the basement, I'd slip and fall flat on my back."

"Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten Alawen turned the place into a slippery, icy hell."

Elsynia rolled her eyes at Parwen's overly-dramatic pronouncement.

While the fire got going, the two mer diced vegetables and venison alike and assembled the pie. They had just slid it into the oven, when footsteps pattered down the hallway. "Parwen! Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, Nerissa!" called the Bosmer, shutting the heavy, iron oven door and wiping her hands on a towel.

A small figure slipped into the room, bare-footed and wearing an emerald green dress; clearly fresh from a bath. Nerissa had a more even division of Bosmer and Altmer features than her sister. The young elf was about shoulder-height on Elsynia and delicate-featured; a prettiness that promised to become beautiful when she grew up. Her skin was a stronger gold but her eyes were an identical brilliant green; inherited from a grandmother who had died before either of them were born. Her hair was also a darker red than Elsynia's, more like copper than fire. It was currently plastered to her head and dripping water onto her dress.

The young elf peered out from behind the curtain of sodden tresses and her entire face lit up when she spotted her older sister standing next to Parwen. "Elsynia!" she cried happily, flying across the room and cannoning into the older elf, wrapping her in a hug.

Elsynia laughed and returned the hug fiercely. The stress of the past few weeks was melting away; the crushing anxiety that she had felt bearing down on her ever since the events of Kvatch had lifted. Just being around her friend and her sister reminded her that normality still existed in the world, even if her life had been anything _but_ normal recently.

A big dog ambled into the kitchen, following in Nerissa's wake. The swordswoman grinned and bent down to ruffle his ears. "Hello, Tawny. Still trailing around after my sister?"

The dog wagged his tail and drooled lovingly on her hands.

"You've been away for _ages_," Nerissa said reproachfully, tugging Elsynia's attention back to her. "What have you been doing?"

Elsynia smiled nonchalantly as she straightened up, feeling like teasing for the first time in weeks. "Oh, saving the world from the hordes of Oblivion, you know. The usual."

There was silence. Then –

"_What?_"

When dinner was ready, Elsynia related the whole story to her rapt audience of two over the food. Parwen had already heard part of it but it was all new to Nerissa. They listened wide-eyed as Elsynia described how she had left the prison sewers with the Amulet of Kings in hand and all the events that had followed; right up until she had returned to the Imperial City to talk to Baurus, who had been hunting for the Mythic Dawn.

"And by that point, Ah-Malz and I were worried sick," reminded Parwen as she rose from the table. They had eaten at the big, homely kitchen table instead of the rarely-used formal dining room and so it was an easy matter to cart all the dishes into the deep sink.

"It had been a week by then, since the three of us had been tossed in the cells for being drunk and disorderly – which we _weren't_, incidentally," she added, glaring at Nerissa who had lost her stupefied look for the first time since Elsynia's long narrative had began, and had began snickering quietly.

"When Ah-Malz and I were released in the morning, Elsynia wasn't released with us. We returned to the jailor and demanded to know where she was but he couldn't tell us. The building was in uproar, of course, since the Emperor and his sons had just been assassinated. And since, he and his Blades had attempted to escape through the Prison – though we didn't know that at the time – the place was flooded with Imperial Legion guards conducting an investigation."

"When I arrived to see Baurus, I hunted around for them first, in the hope that they hadn't returned to Skingrad yet. I found them in the Feed Bag, weeping into their beers," teased Elsynia as they washed and dried the dishes.

"Well, _I_ was weeping," sighed Parwen dramatically. "Ah-Malz was just being morosely stoic. Imagine our surprise when the fetcher that we'd been hunting for all week tapped us on the shoulder." She narrowed her eyes and brandished a wooden serving spoon at Elsynia who was smirking. "After we'd squeezed the breath out of her in a hug, she had some explaining to do."

"It took me a while to convince you that I wasn't high on Skooma, when I told you about where I'd been for the past week," said Elsynia, as they replaced the dishes in the cupboards.

Parwen snorted. "Well, you have to admit; it was pretty unbelievable."

The three mer headed through to the sitting room, Nerissa still hanging on their conversation intently. The rainclouds had broken up while they were eating and the red light of the dying sun fell in long shafts through the tall glass windows. The room was spacious but still somehow cosy. Bookcases lined the walls and a thick, plush rug lay in the centre of a loose circle of armchairs and settees. A fireplace burned with a steady, reassuring glow, filling the stone-walled room with warmth.

Parwen sank into a worn, comfortable armchair and Elsynia relaxed on the big settee, with Nerissa curled up next to her. She had removed her Dwarven armour and the soft material of the sofa hugged her sore body. The elf had forgotten how bone-weary she was, in the excitement of seeing her friend and sister; now that she was fed and sitting somewhere comfortable, the exhaustion was creeping in again.

"So, then what happened?" demanded Nerissa, her green eyes shining with excitement. "Did Baurus tell you where to find the Mythic Dawn?"

"Well, after I'd explained where'd I'd been to Parwen and Ah-Malz, I persuaded them to return to Skingrad and that I'd come to see them as soon as possible –"

"Which turns out to be _now_," said Parwen, rolling her eyes. "Two whole fetching weeks later."

"Sshh, Parwen" said Nerissa severely. "Please. This is really interesting."

The Bosmer gaped at her, while Elsynia dissolved into laughter. When she had recovered sufficiently, the swordswoman continued the narrative, telling them of how Baurus had set her on the path to finding the shrine to Mehrunes Dagon and all the events that had followed; right up to Martin working out the first ingredient in the ritual needed to open a portal to Paradise.

"And so here I am," finished Elsynia, her throat dry from all the talking she had done. "Hunting for a Daedric artifact."

Night had fallen while the elf had been talking and the sky visible through the windows had faded to a soft, velvety black. Stars gleamed like scattered diamonds and the soft light of Masser and Secunda fell through the sitting room windows in faint, white beams. The fire had died to glowing red embers and so the room was lit only by the moonlight.

"That's amazing," murmured Nerissa, gazing up at her older sister with awed eyes. They shone silver with reflected starlight.

Elsynia snorted wearily. "It sounds okay, when I'm telling you. I left out the fact I was constantly tired, in pain, and so wound up with frustration and anxiety and fear over the whole situation that I wanted to scream."

Parwen nodded. "Everything always sounds better in the retelling. Still pretty impressive stuff though," she grinned. "Next time, let Ah-Malz and I tag along. You could use the help and you wouldn't feel so alone."

A grateful smile curled Elsynia's mouth. "That would be nice. I would have called you before; but it just happened too quickly. This is the first time in three weeks that I've stopped. I feel like the threat of Oblivion is just hanging over me like a thundercloud."

Parwen got up from her armchair and crossed to the settee, wriggling into the gap between Nerissa and Elsynia. She squeezed them gently in a comforting hug and the three elves sat together quietly, silence falling in the darkened room for a minute.

"It's scary," whispered Nerissa, her voice muffled from where she was burrowed into Elsynia's side. "That the Daedra are invading. They could just appear anytime, anywhere at all in the whole province."

"More like the whole Empire," muttered Elsynia, unconsciously tightening her grip on her younger sister. "I doubt that this is only affecting Cyrodiil."

Parwen sighed and stretched. "Well, it does no good worrying about it. We'll try to deal with the problems when they arise." The Bosmer rose from the settee. "I was meaning to ask, Elsynia – how did you end up here?"

The swordswoman blinked drowsily. Sleep had been creeping up on her, in the warmth and safety of her home. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, you're looking a Daedric artifact now," Parwen explained. "Did you discover a Daedric shrine near Skingrad or something?"

Elsynia groaned quietly, her head falling back. She had almost managed to forget the circumstances that had brought her to her home city. "No," she sighed. "I wish it was that. I actually came to see Else God-Hater." Bitterness had crept into her tone by the end.

"Why?" questioned the archer, looking a little surprised by the venom in her voice. "Isn't she one of your old instructors?"

"_Was_ my old instructor," Elsynia stated grimly. "Turns out that she was a member of the Mythic Dawn and that she sent a Dark Brotherhood assassin after me when I was in Leyawiin."

Parwen and Nerissa stared at her, suddenly wide-awake again.

"She was _what_?"

"The _Dark Brotherhood_?"

Elsynia sighed and explained the events leading up her arrival in Skingrad and her confrontation with Else when she had arrived. When she had finished, the other two mer had been stunned to silence.

"Damn," muttered Parwen finally. "I can't believe Else would do something like that. And by Akatosh…hiring the _Brotherhood_." She shuddered.

Nerissa said nothing; just clung to her sister tightly, as if she were afraid that Elsynia would suddenly vanish at any second.

"Well," murmured the swordswoman eventually, after the room had been silent for a few minutes more. "I'm utterly exhausted. Parwen, if you want to go back to the Fighters Guild, I'm staying here anyway, so I can look after Nerissa for tonight." She was barely able to keep her eyes open.

"Well, okay," said Parwen, still looking a little stunned. "Ah-Malz and I were going to go out drinking with a couple of members of the Chorrol branch who dropped by. I'll come over in the morning to see you then." She hugged Elsynia. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well," the sisters echoed. They watched as Parwen crossed the sitting room and disappeared out the door. A few minutes later, the front door banged shut.

Nerissa looked up Elsynia worriedly. "Are you really alright?"

"Yes," she reassured, hugging her younger sister. "But I _am_ exhausted; and –" the mer glanced at the clock "– I think it's about time you went to sleep too. You're still only thirteen."

After a token resistance, Nerissa agreed and within half an hour, the household was quiet; both elves fast asleep.

* * *

**A/N: Review please. :)**


	3. Unwelcome Visitor

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and alerts everyone. There's nothing nicer than opening your inbox to find them waiting. ^_^**

**Disclaimer: Oblivion **_**still**_** isn't mine. Isn't likely to become mine anytime soon either. *sigh***

**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter Three: Unwelcome Visitor**

* * *

It was shortly before dawn when the quiet was disturbed. In the dark, silent hallway, there was a tiny _click!_

The front door swung open a little and then closed again silently. There was a faint ripple in the air, barely perceptible. It moved along the hallway, making no noise whatsoever, and passed through the sitting room. The strange wavering patch of air climbed the stairs to the second floor and halted, instantly becoming indistinguishable from the background.

Then suddenly, silently, a black-robed figure appeared from thin air. A slight smile curled Lucien Lachance's lips as he let the chameleon enchantment drop.

_It really is no challenge at all to break into a house these days._

He cast a detect life spell and three purple shapes shimmered into view; all three horizontal, asleep, but one was in a separate room. Footsteps muffled by a Silence spell, he crossed the landing and opened the first bedroom door a crack.

There was an elf girl sleeping in the bed but Lucien could see instantly that she was too young to be the one he was looking for. She was sleeping sprawled out, the covers tangled around her legs and dark, coppery red hair fanned out across the sheets.

The assassin's gloved hand caressed his dagger out of habit, as he assessed the scene with a professional eye. So utterly vulnerable. What an easy kill she would make.

_Not what I'm here for_, he reminded himself. With an inaudible sigh of regret, Lucien dropped his hand.

As he made to close the door, there was a quiet growl. Looking down, the assassin saw a dog stretched out on the rug beside the bed, black and tan fur changed to silver in the moonlight. It growled again softly; a low rumble in its throat that threatened to become a loud bark.

The Imperial sent a pulse of green magicka towards it. As the Calm spell washed over it, the dog's head dropped back on the rug and it sighed heavily, eyes closing.

Lucien closed the door and moved down the corridor. The last life signature shimmered behind another door. He halted at it and carefully opened it a little.

The room was dim and shadowy, cluttered with all manner of fighting paraphernalia; different weapons and armour, some mismatched and some in need of repair; all spilling out of chests or strewn across the floor. A solitary ray of moonlight streamed through a chink in the heavy curtains and lit upon a cluster of Welkynd Stones, glowing with an eerie green light on the wooden floorboards.

Piled on the chair beside the bed was a full set of Dwarven armour, the gold metal gleaming in the dim light. An Elven longsword in its scabbard was propped against the wall. The bed itself was on the far side of the room and there was a lump under the dark blue covers that rose and fell as the occupant breathed.

Lucien carefully picked his way across the bedroom, through the pile of objects and trip hazards, to stand at the foot of the double bed. There was no else in the house, so it was definitely her. She was almost completely hidden from view; only a mass of bright red hair was visible, glinting in the moonlight, and the pointed tips of very pale golden ears poked out. She barely moved, apart from the gentle rise and fall of her breath. It was the deep sleep of the truly exhausted.

The assassin leant gingerly against the wall, trying to avoid touching anything that might unexpectedly clatter to the floor. He studied the shape under the blankets intently. This young elf woman was the one who had killed Blanchard. That unaccustomed anger rose in his throat again, cold and murderous. Lucien forced it back down, with effort.

It did not matter that he personally wished to kill this half-breed in the most painful way that his considerably creative imagination could dream up; the Night Mother had spoken and she was not to be denied.

_Still. _His hand brushed his dagger again, so sharp he could feel the keenness even through his glove. _Perhaps, after she has accomplished whatever destiny the Night Mother has foreseen for her, I will be allowed to kill her then._

The thought appeased his anger slightly and Lucien spent the next few minutes or so thinking over how best to torture her, when he finally received permission.

Perhaps the elf sensed his murderous thoughts, sensed the danger near her; she began to stir, restlessly rolling over underneath the blankets.

Lucien straightened up in preparation, in case she woke, and as he did, the very hem of his robe brushed a pair of Mithril boots. A silver shortsword, which had been propped against them, was knocked ever-so-slightly by the tremor and slid to the floor with a loud clatter.

The covers on the bed were instantly thrown back and there was a blur of movement as the mer leapt out of bed. There was a pair of steely rasps and suddenly the half-breed elf was crouching in a defensive stance beside the bed, a sword in each hand.

Only his meticulous self-control prevented Lucien from gaping. Evidently without her armour she could produce quite a turn of speed.

The elf was still blinking sleep from her eyes but the hands that held her swords were completely steady, combat-ready. Her right hand held the longsword that had been propped beside her bed, Elven-made, a shining swathe of white steel that fit the curve of her arm perfectly. In her left hand was a shortsword with a silver hilt and a blue, glass-like blade that shimmered palely with frost magicka.

Lucien sighed internally and stepped forward, drawing the mer's attention instantly. She stared at him in shock for second, taking in his appearance and then spat, "One of you fetchers again! Why can't you lot just piss off and leave me be? Surely _another_ member of the Mythic Dawn can't have hired you!"

The assassin stared at her for a second before he realised what she was referring to. "Ah, yes," Lucien said smoothly, used to this sort of behaviour. Anger was one of the most frequent reactions he was confronted with when someone woke to find him standing over them. "The Hero of Kvatch, isn't it? Or Elsynia, to a select few?"

He had been quite surprised by what the contents of Ungolim's envelope had revealed; though he supposed it was rather a good motivation for murder. The half-breed was lucky that only one member of the Mythic Dawn knew her as someone other than the Hero of Kvatch, knew her actual identity; either that or simply had the brains to hire the Dark Brotherhood to eliminate the problem for them.

Lucien was privately rather disgusted by the way the Emperor had been murdered. The Mythic Dawn's 'assassins' were completely unprofessional in the eyes of the Brotherhood; there had been no finesse, no skill to their kill at all. It was a disgrace that the _Emperor_ of all people had been murdered by such rank amateurs.

Elsynia bristled and her green eyes flashed angrily, as though his words had been an insult.

A smirk tugged at Lucien's mouth, hidden in the shadows of his hood. "You needn't worry. I am not here to kill you."

Her eyebrows rose and she gave him a look of complete disbelief. Behind it, he thought he could detect mingled anger and fear.

"I speak the truth. The contract that Else God-Hater had with us for your murder was annulled upon her own death. No client, no contract, you see."

_Though, if you hadn't killed her, I _would_ be here to carry out the contract in Blanchard's stead. _The thought sent a shiver of pleasure, of longing, through him.

The look that the mer gave him now was wary. "Then why are you here – and who are you?"

The assassin smirked. "I am Lucien Lachance and I am a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood. Your deathcraft has pleased the Night Mother and as a result, she has sent me to extend an invitation to you; an offer to join us."

The elf's mouth fell open in shock. "_What? Why?"_

Lucien raised an eyebrow in question – not that she could see it under his hood. "I was under the impression that you were reasonably intelligent; though perhaps I was mistaken? I am here, offering you a place in the Brotherhood, because you have committed a murder. That is how we recruit new members."

Elsynia growled angrily at the insult, gripping her swords more tightly. "That wasn't what I meant. I meant, why on Nirn would you invite _me_? I _haven't_ murdered anyone and don't intend to do so in the near future."

Lucien stared at her. Perhaps the trips to Oblivion had given her brain trauma. Affected her memory in some way. "You murdered Else God-Hater," the assassin said slowly. "That is why you are being invited."

An incredulous laugh left the elf. "No, I didn't. _Else_ attacked _me_. She sent an assassin after me and then, when I survived and confronted her about it, she drew her sword to finish the job herself. That's self-defence, not murder."

Thoughts churned in Lucien's mind. Had the Night Mother been possibly been mistaken? Or was this mer just in denial? Either way, the Mother had sent him and she demanded an answer.

"Be that as it may, the offer is open. Do you accept?"

"No." The elf's tone was cold. "Now, if that's all, get out of my house."

Lucien remained unmoving, disbelief swirling through him. Ungolim had been so certain… confident in the Night Mother's confidence that her destiny involved the Brotherhood. And she had just turned the offer of membership down.

Elsynia glared at him, shifting her body into a combat stance, clearly taking his failure to obey her command as a threatening gesture. Lucien noted absently her grip on the longsword and the way she shifted her left arm down slightly in preparation to slice with the enchanted shortsword. An experienced swordswoman. But he'd already known that.

"Was there something else?" she enquired, frost in her voice, as he had not made any move, either to attack or leave. The elf's green eyes were angry but he could see the fear behind it, the innate fear that the Brotherhood inspired. He could almost reluctantly admire her courage.

Lucien's mind shifted abruptly to thoughtful calculation, wondering if he'd get away with killing her now; now that she had declined the invitation. But, no. He would have to report back. Maybe then, if the Night Mother gave up on the swordswoman and her supposed destiny; but somehow, the assassin sensed that that would not easily happen. Especially if she would somehow be vital to the survival of the Brotherhood.

With an inaudible sigh of annoyance, Lucien turned, walked out of the room and vanished.

xxx

Elsynia watched the assassin disappear, enveloped by the corridor's shadows. She remained with her swords poised, alert and wary of some trickery until, straining her sensitive ears to the utmost, she heard the distant sound of a door or window closing.

Her shoulders slumped and Elsynia blew out a sigh of relief, the tension draining out of her. Adrenaline still thrummed through her blood, making her hyper-aware of everything. She had been certain for a minute that he was about to attack her.

The mer sheathed her swords, reaching under her pillow for Chillrend's scabbard. _This is the last time,_ she vowed to herself. _The last time that someone sneaks up on me while I'm asleep._

She resolved to visit Tirion at the Arcane University at the nearest opportunity. Her friend specialised in experimental magic; perhaps he had something that could help her.

The swordswoman sat down heavily on the bed. She was no stranger to combat but there was something indefinably horrible about the threat of attack in her own home.

Out in the wilderness, it was easy to handle. She was prepared and ready. She was used to dealing with it there, and more recently, had come to expect it even inside the cities. But inside her house? Her safe haven, where she was supposed to be able to relax and let down her guard? Elsynia had an awful sinking feeling that it wasn't going to get better any time soon.

The elf shuddered as the cool air sent shivers creeping over her skin. The assassin had seemed to be surrounded by a cold aura that chilled the very air. He had been even more frightening than the last one. Maybe it was because he had invaded the sanctity of her home. Or maybe it was because she hadn't seen his face – the instinctive fear of the unknown. He had remained hidden by the room's shadows; just a black-garbed figure, the hood and robe rendering him anonymous. His voice, the one thing she'd really been able to determine about him, had been deep and coldly threatening.

And even more disturbing, was the fact the Dark Brotherhood had tried to recruit her in the first place. How they possibly think that she'd want to join them? Elsynia shook her head in disgust. Especially since they had very recently attempted to murder her themselves.

The swordswoman's eyes flew wide open as a sudden thought struck her and she leapt to her feet, grabbing Chillrend. She tore across her room – expertly leaping the piles of weaponry and armour that had been accumulating in her room for years – and out into the corridor.

Elsynia skidded to a halt outside Nerissa's bedroom door and fumbled for the handle, panic making her fingers clumsy.

Fear – the bone-deep sort of fear that had long ago stopped affecting her in regards to her own life, dulled by constant exposure to danger – leapt anew in her chest, cold and sharp-edged, but for Nerissa's safety, rather than her own.

Grabbing the handle, Elsynia threw open the door –

To see her sister, curled on her side in her bed and sleeping peacefully.

The elf nearly sank to the floor, legs weak with sheer relief. Tawny lifted his head from the rug, eyes sleepy, and thumped his tail gently against the carpet in welcome. Elsynia let out a quiet, breathless laugh. "Some guard dog you are," she whispered to him. Tawny merely yawned and dropped his head back to the floor.

Rising, the swordswoman shut Nerissa's door behind her. She wasn't leaving her sister to sleep unguarded when assassins were just wandering in and out of the house.

Mysticism magicka swirled around her right hand and a heavy dresser in the corner of the bedroom glowed purple briefly and lifted off the floor. She maintained the telekinesis spell, directing the dresser to float silently across the room and then lower carefully back to the ground. Elsynia released the magicka and the dresser settled on the floor with a quiet thump.

It was now blocking the door, preventing from it from being opened.

The elf looked at her hand, at the eddies of purple magicka dying away. Normally, she hoarded her magicka jealously, reluctant to use it in anything but the greatest need. This was different, however; her sister's safety was at stake.

A quirk of birth had left her with stunted magicka; her body completely unable to regenerate its reserves of magic by itself. This limitation was what had made Elsynia wary from a young age of relying on just magicka for protection. She had seen the fatal effect on mages unable to defend themselves when their magic reserves ran out – not to mention how easily they could be crippled by Silence spells.

As such, Elsynia had trained instead to handle blades and honed her body into a weapon. But, though unwilling to _rely_ upon magicka, she _had_ been instructed in its use. Mostly, her magical education had been in the school of Restoration, with a scattering of useful spells from the other disciplines; carefully balanced for effectiveness and strength against the drain on her reserves.

It was also the reason that the swordswoman so often went out of her way to visit Ayleid ruins, to collect the Welkynd Stones found within them. She regarded them as incredibly valuable. A single Stone would completely replenish her magicka stores.

Elsynia stepped back. Just in case someone else thought of a telekinesis spell, she hung one of Nerissa's delicate glass ornaments off the handle of one of the dresser's drawers. Now the slightest movement would cause the ornament to fall and smash.

The mer sighed with both relief and annoyance. It was galling beyond measure that she felt compelled to behave like this in her own house. Satisfied that they were as safe as they could be, Elsynia curled up in the armchair beside her sister's bed, prepared to watch over and protect her for the rest of the night.

Sleep was a long time coming.

xxx

"She said _what_?"

"No," Lucien said shortly. He had ridden hard cross-country to make it to Bravil just before midday and subsequently was not in the best of moods. "She said no."

Ungolim sank back into his chair, disbelief etched on his face. "Impossible," he breathed. "Utterly impossible…the Mother was so sure…"

Lucien remained silent and expressionless, despite the urge to respond with biting sarcasm.

Ungolim stared off into the middle distance. The Imperial could almost see the gears in his brain whirring furiously.

Eventually, he sighed, in what appeared to be defeat. "I will have to consult the Mother again." The Bosmer looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect.

"Do you wish me remain here?" Lucien was almost certain that this matter was not going to be resolved quickly, no matter the outcome.

"Yes." The Listener rose to his feet and crossed the room. The front door slammed shut behind him.

Lucien settled more comfortably into his seat and reached into his robes for a small bottle of Tamika Vintage 399 that he kept for emergencies. In the long run, the assassin was almost sure that this situation would warrant it.

xxx

Parwen stepped out of the Skingrad Fighters Guild Hall. She blinked blearily in the dazzling midday sunshine, trying to ignore the way the strong light was aggravating her hangover. A light breeze chased a few scraps of white cloud across the vast expanse of beautiful blue sky overhead. The streets gleamed silver with rainwater that had not yet evaporated but it appeared that the bad weather had cleared off for a while.

The door slammed behind her, and Ah-Malz moved forward to stand beside her. The Argonian was clad in his usual suit of steel armour, an enormous silver claymore strapped across his back.

Parwen grinned up at him. Ah-Malz was a whole head taller than her. "Ready to go?"

He just nodded.

Parwen generally found it difficult to judge Argonian and Khajiit facial expressions but she knew Ah-Malz well enough to detect the worry playing over his dark-red scaled face.

The Bosmer and the Argonian set off together, weaving through Skingrad's familiar network of streets, Parwen continuously glancing up at her taller companion. She could read the lines of tension in his muscular, scaled body and hoped for his sake that it turned out that Dar-Ma was safe.

They arrived at Elsynia's house. Parwen rapped on the front door, then opened it and hollered down the hallway. "Elsynia, Nerissa! We're here!"

An indistinct shout answered her.

Taking this as an invitation, Parwen sashayed into the hallway; followed by a silent Ah-Malz. She poked her head around the kitchen door. Nerissa was sitting at the big table, sleepy-eyed and dressed in a set of light blue linens. Her bare feet swung back and forward under the table and she was ploughing her way through a heaped plate of ham, cheese and bread.

"Ood orning!" she greeted enthusiastically through a full mouth.

"Good morning," returned Parwen cheerfully, flopping down in a chair opposite the girl, her chainmail rattling against the wood. Ah-Malz leaned against the wall. "I don't suppose you know where Elsynia is?"

Nerissa grinned. "Owt ack, actising wif er ords," she said helpfully.

Parwen cocked her head to one side. Her sharp ears caught the distant sound of steel striking wood. "She's outside? Practising with her swords?" guessed the Bosmer.

Nerissa nodded vigorously and finally managed to swallow her enormous mouthful of cheese. "Yes," she said. "She's been out there for about an hour. I think she's taking out her stress. She seems very tense." Her tone had lowered conspiratorially.

"Oh?" asked Parwen. "You even mean more than yesterday?" It hadn't escaped her notice that Elsynia had been very on edge last night. Some of the playfulness had faded from her demeanour and there was a new grimness in the elf's bearing, and in her eyes. Though after hearing what the swordswoman had endured in the past few weeks, hearing the descriptions of Oblivion, Parwen would have been amazed if her friend had survived those experiences completely unchanged.

The Bosmer had tried her best yesterday to lighten Elsynia's mood with their usual teasing and banter; it had worked, to a certain extent. Humour had brightened her face momentarily and when she had laughed, it erased the worry from her expression. But whenever they had fallen silent, that grim new tension had crept back into her again.

"Yeah." Nerissa toyed with another chunk of ham. "I think that assassination attempt has made her paranoid too. I woke up this morning to find that she had barricaded my bedroom door shut and was sleeping in the chair next to my bed."

Parwen snorted, helping herself to a wedge of cheese that had escaped from Nerissa's plate. "I'm not surprised. Not many people meet a Dark Brotherhood assassin and live to tell the tale."

"I am still astonished that so much has happened to our friend in the space of a few weeks." Ah-Malz's rasping voice broke into the conversation for the first time. Parwen had brought him up to date on the recent events the previous night, during their marathon drinking session.

"I know; I almost feel behind the times," the archer responded, eyeing him cautiously. She could hear the underlying strain in his voice and suddenly remembered that this visit was supposed to be brief.

Parwen stuffed the cheese into her mouth and then jumped lightly to her feet again. She waltzed over to the back door of the kitchen and, opening it, she peeked outside.

Elsynia was in the small grassy space behind the house. She was pounding away at a wooden practise dummy as though it had done her a personal wrong. Chips of wood flew in all directions and sweat ran in streams off the swordswoman, soaking her shirt and gleaming on her bare, muscular arms. She wasn't wearing her armour and Parwen got the distinct feeling that this was more about stress relief than actual practise.

"Good morning!" the archer called out cheerfully, bouncing over but stopping abruptly at a safe distance.

Elsynia halted and turned around, then planted her longsword firmly on the ground and leaned on it. "Good morning," she responded, wiping the perspiration from her brow with back of her hand. "Did you have fun last night?"

Parwen's eyes widened and she affected a look of innocent outrage. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I most definitely did _not _flirt drunkenly with every attractive male in the Two Sisters Lodge and I mostly definitely did _not_ inadvertently start a bar fight. Nope. Not at all. Anyone that says otherwise is lying."

A smile tugged up a corner of the swordswoman's mouth. "That's funny. I haven't actually talked to anyone else this morning. I was merely referring to the fact that you said were going out drinking with couple of members of the Chorrol branch of the Guild."

"Oh." The Bosmer blinked, and then rapidly shifted gear. "Okay, then. Good. And I'm still a little hungover actually." She heard Ah-Malz cough pointedly from the doorway behind her and realised she was getting off track again.

"On that subject… turns out that the Chorrol bunch stopped at Skingrad en-route to Anvil deliberately, just to talk to Ah-Malz."

"Oh?" said Elsynia, straightening up. "About what?"

Parwen sighed and shifted from one foot to the other. "You remember Dar-Ma?"

The other elf chuckled. "How could I forget?"

Ah-Malz had introduced both mer to the young Argonian woman not too long ago and it had been a thoroughly memorable occasion. Ah-Malz and Elsynia had briefly left the other two to call in at Fire and Steel; Parwen and Dar-Ma had stayed behind at the Grey Mare Inn, deep in conversation. They had returned to find that the Bosmer woman had been a thoroughly bad influence on the younger Argonian. In the space of an hour, the two had bypassed the point of being merely drunk and were rapidly heading to the stage where singing and dancing on the table-tops seemed like a _fantastic _idea. There had been much sobering up to be done before Dar-Ma could be returned home to her mother, Seed-Neeus. Parwen had complained volubly about the copious amounts of ice involved.

The archer grinned, clearly remembering too. "It was fun, wasn't it?" She sighed, the smile dropping from her face. "Anyway, the Chorrol fighters passed on a message from Seed-Neeus. Apparently, Dar-Ma has gone missing. Went to make a delivery to some little village way out in the forest and hasn't come back. Seed-Neeus is worried sick, of course. She knows Ah-Malz is Dar-Ma's friend, and decent with a blade if there happens to be trouble, so she contacted him in the hope that he would be able to find her daughter and bring her home safely."

Normally, Parwen would have included a lot of ribbing about the soft spot the Warder had for the younger Argonian, but prudently decided that this was perhaps not the time for teasing.

Elsynia frowned in concern. "I hope nothing's happened to her." She genuinely liked Dar-Ma; indeed it was very hard to dislike the friendly young woman.

"I know. But I can't help but feel she's run into trouble." The archer hefted her bow meaningfully. "The sooner Al-Malz and I get going, the better. So, if all goes well, we'll meet you in Chorrol in about a week's time, yes?"

Elsynia looked at her questioningly. "I am missing something? I don't remember making that arrangement."

Parwen grinned, the mischievous look coming back into her brown eyes. "You didn't. I worked it out just now. I'm guessing it should take you about a week to find this Daedric artifact and take it to Cloud Ruler Temple. It should take us less than a week – hopefully – to find Dar-Ma. Chorrol is a convenient meeting place because we need to take Dar-Ma back there and there's a road almost directly from the Temple to Chorrol. See?"

"Yes, I do. It's even more convenient when you include the fact I need to pick up my shield; Rasheda ought to have finished mending it by now. It was damaged almost beyond repair when I went through that Oblivion gate. I handed it in when Jauffre, Martin and I were travelling to Cloud Ruler Temple from Weynon Priory."

The Bosmer frowned. "You mean you haven't had a functional shield since the Battle of Kvatch?"

Elsynia shook her head. "No. Jauffre named me a sort of honorary Blade and gave me free run of their armoury, so I took a shield from there. It was a good one but I lost it in the fighting under the Lake Arrius Caverns. But –" The mer leant on the hilt of her Elven longsword again. The blade sank several inches into the grass. "What I don't see is _why_ we're meeting in Chorrol."

Parwen blinked in what appeared to genuine astonishment. "Well, we're coming with you, of course." At Elsynia's blank look, she elaborated. "To help Martin find the rest of those items for that ritual thing? You didn't think we'd let you go alone, did you? We'd be coming with you right now, if it wasn't for this situation with Dar-Ma. Once that's cleared up, we're joining you."

The swordswoman felt an unexpected lump of emotion in her throat and forced it back down. "Thanks," she managed. "I appreciate it."

"Hey, what are friends for?" The Bosmer punched her lightly on the shoulder. "Besides, someone has to save your ass. On multiple occasions."

Elsynia looked at her in mock offense. "I think you'll find that _I'm _ahead in rescuing stakes, thank you very much."

Parwen waved a dismissive hand, face alight with mirth. "We'll see. Bye, Elsynia."

"Goodbye. And good luck, both of you." The swordswoman nodded to Al-Malz, still hovering impatiently in the doorway. He nodded back, with what looked like a pained smile.

The Bosmer and the Argonian vanished back into the kitchen and Elsynia heard Nerissa calling out her farewells. The echoing bang of the front door reached her and only then did the elf realise that she had completely forgotten to tell them of the second Dark Brotherhood assassin who had paid her a visit.

* * *

**A/N: Review please. Even if you haven't done so before, feel free to drop a comment. ;)**


	4. Prisoners

**A/N: Well. I'm kinda embarrassed. I wrote the first draft of this chapter from memory and have subsequently made a mistake about the quests involved. I've accidently mixed up a small bit of Malacath's and Namira's quests but I actually liked what I wrote, so I decided to keep it. My apologies in advance for the non-canonicity.**

**Also, this is the last of the pre-written chapters, so it will probably take me longer to update from here on in. Bear with me. ;)**

**Disclaimer: Oblivion isn't mine. At all. In any way.**

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**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter Four: Prisoners**

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Lucien looked up as the door opened, a hand slipping inside his robe to grasp the hilt of his dagger. He relaxed slightly as Ungolim walked in and shut the door behind himself. Still, no such thing as being too careful.

The Bosmer crossed the room and Lucien was unable keep from frowning a little. The Listener's walk was very careful, as if he had to completely concentrate to perform that simple movement. As he sat down, the Imperial caught the slightest tremor in his hands.

"I have spoken to the Night Mother." Ungolim's voice was completely toneless. "She was very…unhappy…with this turn of events."

Lucien was suddenly very glad that he had not been appointed Listener, when the opportunity had cropped up about two years ago.

"She has instructed me to turn the situation over to you. It's your responsibility to ensure the elf – if she refuses to actually join the Brotherhood – has as many ties and links to it as possible instead." Resentment flickered briefly in the Bosmer's eyes.

_A little jealous are we, Honourable Listener?_ The Speaker smiled inwardly. Still, the task was definitely a poisoned chalice. So much to lose if he failed; so much to gain if he won. Normally, he took only calculated risks, but a request – order – from the Night Mother was not to be refused.

"I see," Lucien replied, carefully neutral. "And how am I to go about doing this?"

"In any way you see fit." Ungolim's attention had returned to the paper strewn about his desk. "I suggest you start immediately." It was a clear dismissal.

The Imperial inclined his head and rose from his seat, already planning. "As you wish. Walk always in the shadow of Sithis, Listener."

xxx

Elsynia momentarily considered going after Parwen and Ah-Malz, then discarded the idea. The information would keep for when they met up in Chorrol. It wasn't as if they urgently needed to know the Brotherhood had tried to recruit her.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall of her house; enjoying the coolness of the stone on her back and the heat of the sun warming her front. Closing her eyes, the elf considered her next move. A warm breeze blew strands of hair across her face; the soft, tickly sensation made the corners of her mouth turn up in a contented smile. She loved the heat.

Opening her eyes, Elsynia made her decision based on that. She would chase the sun west to Malacath's shrine. Autumn was upon them and thus far it had been unusually mild. She planned to take advantage of the warmer weather until the inevitable chill of winter set in.

Decided, the swordswoman strode back into the house and up the stairs to her room. Stripping out of her sweat-stained clothes, she threw on a fresh set and began buckling on her Dwarven armour on top of them.

Greaves, boots, cuirass, gauntlets, helmet, shield –

Damn. Her fingers had reached automatically for her Elven shield, only to find it missing.

Elsynia cast around, seeking a temporary replacement from the piles of armour and weaponry she had collected over the past four years, from both her Fighters Guild contracts and freelance adventuring.

The mer pulled out a leather shield from one of the untidy mounds and stared at it. Why on Nirn had she kept such a thing? It wasn't even one of those useless but intriguing items that she occasionally happened across and couldn't bring herself to throw away.

Elsynia sighed. Better a poor shield than no shield at all. She slung it on her back. It was a reassuring weight, if not much else.

Then the Elven longsword joined it, and Chillrend was belted to her hip. After a moment of consideration, a silver shortsword was attached to the opposite hip. Better safe than sorry. A few more seconds of deliberation saw a pair of prized ebony daggers join them, one slipped into each boot.

Feeling suitably armed to the teeth, Elsynia then dug out a dozen Welkynd Stones and added them to her pack. She didn't know the next time she'd be back in Skingrad and wanted to be prepared. The way things were going, the elf would probably need all of them.

The swordswoman crossed to the potion cabinet and stocked up on every potion that it seemed likely she would need. The most important ones were attached to her belt and the rest joined the Welkynd Stones in her pack.

Turning, Elsynia walked out of the room and back down the stairs. She found Nerissa in the sitting room, feeding Tawny chunks of cold beef. Her sister's smile faded into a look of dismay as she took in the swordswoman's appearance. "You're leaving again so soon?"

"Sorry, Rissa," Elsynia sighed. "That Daedric artifact won't find itself."

"Can't I come with you?" Nerissa pleaded. "I'm a good archer, you said so yourself; so did Mama, and she should know –"

"No!" Elsynia's voice came out sharper than she had intended. Her sister's face fell in disappointment. The older elf softened her tone. "No. I'm sorry, Rissa. You know I wouldn't be able to concentrate on fighting if you were there. I'd be worrying about you the whole time and in combat situations, lack of concentration can kill."

Nerissa looked dejected. "Okay. I understand, I suppose."

"Come on then," Elsynia gave her a one-armed hug. "Put your shoes on, grab your stuff and I'll take you over to the Guildhall."

The swordswoman locked up the house and then they set off through the busy streets. It was the height of the day and the roads were packed with all manner of people going about their business. Nerissa moped and dragged her heels all the way there, Tawny trotting loyally by her side.

They stopped at the entrance to the Skingrad Fighters Guildhall and the younger elf hopped up the stairs. She stopped on the top step and turned to face her sister.

Elsynia reached out and readjusted Nerissa's bow, which was poking over her shoulder. It looked almost too big for her. "Now behave yourself," Elsynia instructed sternly. "Keep up your archery and magic practise." Nerissa had a modest amount of magicka at her disposal and had not been born with the same affliction as her sister. The swordswoman schooled her in Restoration at every opportunity. "I know those Destruction spells Tirion taught you are fun, but try to exercise some caution when you're throwing them around. I don't want to return to find you've blown up the Guildhall."

A reluctant smile tugged at Nerissa's mouth. The older elf grinned. "If you absolute must destroy a building, go down the road to the Mages Guild. It happens pretty regularly there, what with Skingrad being the branch that specialises in Destruction magicka."

"I will." Some sadness still lingered in Nerissa's eyes despite her smile. Elsynia groaned with dismay and pulled her sister into a hug. She hated seeing the younger mer upset.

"Cheer up. I know it seems like a long time until you turn sixteen but you'll get there eventually. We'll all be waiting to welcome you into the Guild and you can come on contracts with Parwen, Ah-Malz and I all the time."

"Promise? I can really fight alongside you one day?" Nerissa's voice was muffled by the hug.

"Promise." Elsynia's heart gave a guilty twinge at the longing in her sister's voice. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."

The younger elf squeezed her tightly and then stepped back, a radiant smile on her face. An old pain – no less potent for its age – flared in the swordswoman's chest at the sight.

_By the Nine, when she smiles she looks so much like –_

Elsynia cut the thought off savagely. The ache of old grief intensified.

"I'll see you when you get back then." Nerissa placed a kiss on her cheek. "Come home safe, El."

"I will," the older mer murmured. Her sister and Tawny bounded into the Guildhall and the heavy doors swung shut behind them.

Elsynia simply stared at the wood for a second; then she took a deep breath and banished the painful memories.

A few minutes later, she was in the Grateful Pass Stables, rousing her sleepy horse. Snowflake attempted to nip the swordswoman on the arm, making it plain that she highly disapproved of only getting a single day of rest.

After gently smacking her disobedient horse, the elf swung herself up into the saddle and urged Snowflake forward. They trotted out of the stables and as the bay mare hit the open road, Elsynia gave her free rein. The horse surged forwards eagerly, sleepiness forgotten, and they set off at a steady gallop, along the road to Anvil and beyond.

xxx

Parwen leant against the wall of the chapel, looking out across the village square. Several of Hackdirt's inhabitants were skulking – there really was no other word for it – about, despite the failing light. She rather suspected they were keeping an eye on her. The bloody tinge of sunset did not cast the village in a more appealing light either; the shafts of orange light falling through the trees made the place look even more creepy than it did in full daylight. She was dreading the complete fall of darkness.

It had taken them two days to reach Chorrol – hampered on the road by a particularly determined group of bandits – and after they had spoken to Dar-Ma's mother, another day and a half to actually find Hackdirt. The archer was sure they must have passed it about three times, hidden by the fastness of the Great Forest. No wonder not many people came here to trade. The villagers' decidedly hostile attitude towards 'outsiders' probably didn't help matters either.

The chapel door creaked open and Ah-Malz shouldered his way out. He wasn't verbose at the best of times but over the past few days he had become barely monosyllabic. Parwen recognised it for what it was; worry over Dar-Ma's safety, and forgive him his complete lack of conversation. She herself tended to talk _more_ when she was worried.

"So? Did you find anything?" the Bosmer pitched her voice low. She could almost swear the people on the other side of square appeared to lean towards them in an attempt to catch their conversation.

"Only that these people worship something referred to in their holy book as 'the Deep Ones'." It was probably the longest sentence the Argonian had uttered for days.

Parwen frowned. "That doesn't sound good at _all_." She rubbed her arms; cold now as the sun sank completely below the horizon. Hackdirt was every bit as eerie as she had suspected it would be under the veil of twilight. She thanked her lucky stars that she had just enough magical ability to cast a weak Light spell, if the need arose. It wasn't much, but it was reassuring just to know it was there.

"I checked out the inn. The man swore Dar-Ma had never showed up." The archer snorted inelegantly. "This turned out to same crap that the woman in the shop tried to give us. I poked around a bit and found Dar-Ma's journal in one of the bedrooms upstairs. After that, the innkeeper tried to sell me some more bullshit. She _was_ here, apparently, but 'left without any of her stuff'." The deep scepticism in Parwen's expression spoke volumes, even if her tone hadn't. "Just like how that paint horse really belonged to the woman in the shop, honest – even if it _did_ have the name 'Blossom' scratched into the bridle."

The Argonian growled; a low angry rumble that spoke of contained wrath. The accompanying look in his eyes made Parwen suddenly glad that she would not be the one on the receiving end of his fury. "I am tired of these lies," he rasped. "_Someone_ in this place must be willing to talk, even if we have to buy the information."

The archer pushed herself away from the wall. "Let's get cracking then. I have the feeling that time may be running out."

xxx

"Planning a drinking session, are you?" asked the shopkeeper conversationally. Elsynia gritted her teeth and reminded herself for the millionth time that losing her temper would not help anything.

"Something like that." The elf pushed her gold across the counter. With a curt farewell, she exited Lelles' Quality 'Mercandise' with her prize; a couple of bottles of cheap wine clinking merrily under one arm. They gleamed in the sunlight and sloshed in time with her footsteps as she marched along Anvil's quay.

Elsynia fervently hoped that this was not a joke. If it was, she was going to be even more pissed off than she already was.

After a brief stopover in Anvil, the mer had arrived at the shrine of Malacath to find that Pinarus Inventius had been correct about needing an offering of troll fat to gain the Daedric lord's attention. What he had not known, however, was that it was extremely hard for anyone other than an Orc to get an audience, even with the correct offering. One of the worshippers – an Orc, naturally – had been well-disposed enough towards her to offer a bit of advice. Apparently, she was too _attractive_.

The swordswoman had been completely stumped by this piece of information. It certainly wasn't a compliment she had ever received before. Or, judging by the Orc's pitying expression, perhaps it wasn't a compliment after all.

When Elsynia had confessed that she no idea how to make herself less 'attractive' – short of asking someone to punch her in the face – the Orc had further advised that she should get thoroughly drunk and come back then.

Drunkenness was a key factor in unattractiveness, apparently.

Either that, or the worshippers of Malacath were currently all rolling around on the ground, howling with laughter at her gullibility.

The mer sighed as she passed through the main gate of Anvil and entered the stables. She loaded up Snowflake's saddlebags with the bottles. The bay horse snorted, flattening her ears against her head and dancing sideways.

"Behave," Elsynia said sternly, giving the mare a firm rap on the nose. "Don't try your crap with me today. I'm not in the mood to put up with it. I had to ride all the way back down the coast to Anvil, just to get some really terrible wine and the worst part is, I'm not even certain if I actually need it, or if I'm just having a horrible joke played on me."

Mounting up, she urged the horse into action and they galloped northwards once more.

xxx

"Here."

Jiv Hiriel pressed a key into Parwen's hand. She curled her fingers around it and looked back up at him. The Imperial was pale with fright but his expression was set with determination. "Please, help her. I have to get to the Gathering before I'm missed."

Hiriel slipped out of his house past them and was swallowed up by the gathering darkness. Parwen looked at Ah-Malz. The big Argonian was standing stock-still, his fists clenched tight in rage.

"Bastards," he rasped finally. "Those complete _bastards_. How could anyone –" He broke off, anger apparently too great for words.

Parwen just shook her head in mixture of disbelief and disgust. She _knew_ she'd been right about this place. They'd managed to find the one person in town who didn't appear to wish them a horrifically painful death and Hiriel had explained that Dar-Ma was being held in the caverns under Hackdirt. She was scheduled to die tonight, as a sacrifice to bring back these 'Deep Ones' that Ah-Malz had found mentioned in the village chapel.

Naturally, the two warriors were violently opposed to this plan and the man had gladly provided the key to the trapdoors leading down into the caverns. He had apparently gained a conscience at the last minute.

"Let's go," said Parwen uneasily, glancing out of the window. It might have been her imagination but she thought she could see shapes moving around in the dusk. Ah-Malz nodded, jaw still clenched with anger.

The archer slipped the key into a pocket and followed the Argonian outside. They carefully circled around the perimeter of the village until they came up behind Moslin's Inn. Hiriel had recommended that they use the trapdoor inside the Inn to enter the caverns but the two Fighters Guild members weren't taking any chances. A brief whispered argument ended in them deciding to go down through a trapdoor _near_ the inn, located in one of the burnt-out ruins dotted around the village – on the off-chance that Hiriel was setting them up in some way.

The trouble was finding it. After stumbling around in the dark for a few minutes, they downed a night-eye potion each. "We're going to need it when we get down there anyway," hissed Parwen, as Ah-Malz grunted in displeasure over the time wasted.

She blinked as her vision adjusted, and spotted the trapdoor instantly, not ten metres away. Grumbling, the archer stomped over and rammed the key into the lock. However, it took the Argonian's strength to haul the trapdoor up from its frame; it came free with a groan of rusty hinges. They descended carefully down a rickety ladder and warily checked their surroundings. Under normal circumstances, the cavern would have been in complete darkness; however, the night-eye layered the cave in ghostly shades of blue.

It was a spacious area, with several passageways branching off from it. It was filled with stalagmites and stalactites. There was a scattering of crates and barrels in varying states of decomposition. The air was cold, stale and musty; the scent of damp and mould lingered. Parwen stepped forward cautiously over the uneven, rocky ground. The only thing her sharp ears could detect was the faint plop of water droplets dripping from the cave roof.

The archer turned around. "I think it's all clear," she murmured to Ah-Malz and turned back around just in time to see a figure rush out from a nearby passageway.

Parwen yelped in surprise and barely raised her bow in time to block. She caught a brief glimpse of a half-naked male Breton with wild, too-large eyes in a pale, drawn face. The sturdy wood of her bow held up as a club collided with it but the impact sent her stumbling back a few paces. The Argonian flowed past her, unsheathing his silver claymore with a steely rasp and turned aside the next swing of the club with ease.

As Ah-Malz grappled with the cave-dweller, the Bosmer caught sight of another one running towards them; she whipped out an arrow, drew the bowstring and fired in one smooth motion. The cave-dweller staggered forward a few more paces, and then pitched face-first onto the ground, the arrow through his throat.

"These freaks must be the 'Brethren' that Hiriel mentioned," grunted Ah-Malz, as he slid the body of the first attacker off his claymore.

Parwen nodded and nocked another arrow to her bowstring, stepping over the Brethren she had just shot. She was forced to leap to the side almost instantly, as another club-wielding maniac rushed out of the passageway to her left. With a roar, he spun around, raising the club –

–and Ah-Malz's claymore punched easily through his bare torso in a spray of blood. The Warder grunted with satisfaction as the man collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from the fatal wound at an alarming rate. The Argonian had a lot of repressed anger to deal with over the situation and it showed.

The Bosmer paced a couple of steps ahead warily, peering down the next passageway. She pulled back just in time to prevent her skull from being caved in. The club that narrowly missed her head bounced off the floor as the cave-dweller staggered, off-balance. Parwen wasted no time in pulling the glass shortsword free from the belt at her waist and slicing his throat open while he was distracted. The Brethren fell to the floor with a dying gurgle.

She slid the blood-stained blade back into its scabbard, listening to the eerie, whistling shrieks of the cave-dwellers growing louder as they sprinted up the passageway towards the two Fighters Guild members.

The archer glanced over at the Argonian. He nodded to her and she drew another silver arrow from her quiver. Together, Ah-Malz and Parwen turned to face the coming onslaught.

xxx

Elsynia dismounted unsteadily a short distance from Malacath's statue. She had started drinking the wine as they had drawn closer to the shrine and now, two and a half bottles later, her mind was now pleasantly foggy and her body slightly wobbly.

The swordswoman walked unsteadily towards Malacath's statue, determined to get there, despite the way the landscape was spinning lazily around her. She made it eventually, grabbing the base of the shrine quickly for support. Elsynia blinked up at the statue, her sluggish mind attempting to recall the necessary information.

"Ahh…troll fat." She nodded wisely to herself and reached into her pack for the offering. On the third attempt, the elf managed to select the correct item from her bag and placed it at the statue's feet.

The sound of the Daedric Lord's voice booming through her head cut through the drunken fog of her thoughts like a blade tearing through flesh; the noise startling her so much that she almost fell over.

_You brought a present. Good. That's smart. You're pretty strong too, for such a little elf. You want something? Then, if you're smart, you do what I tell you. Lord Drad took my ogres. Says he owns them. Lying maggot! They're MY ogres! Get over to Lord Drad's estate. Let my ogres loose, and get them out! Okay? Get going!_

By the time the rumbling voice had died away, Elsynia's mind had cleared, the numbing qualities of the alcohol dispersed. She wished it hadn't. Her sobriety had been restored, but she was also the recipient of an instant hangover.

The swordswoman clutched at her head, almost groaning with the agony of a blinding headache. Her stomach heaved, threatening rebellion; she swallowed, trying to quell the uneasy rippling.

With an effort of supreme concentration, the mer gathered her power and sent a stream of healing magic flowing through her body.

The Restoration magicka gently assuaged the headache pounding behind her eyes, washing away most of the throbbing pain and the nausea in her stomach. Healing internal problems such as headaches were always harder than more the obvious injuries, like a broken bone or a flesh wound. It was the reason that cure disease and cure poison spells were far more difficult to perform than a comparatively simple spell to close surface wounds.

Consequently, there was still a dull throbbing ache in Elsynia's temple that had not quite been banished by the Restoration magicka. She released the spell and the blue glow died away.

Straightening up, she walked over to the Malacath's worshippers, who weren't even bothering to hide their grins.

"My advice worked then, yes?" asked the Orc who had previously advised her to get drunk.

Elsynia sighed. "Yes. Thank you, I guess. I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of Lord Drad's estate?"

The Orc's face darkened in disapproval at the mere mention of the name and he grunted, "Southeast. You can't miss it."

"Thank you." Elsynia untied Snowflake and mounted up. She turned the bay mare around and they galloped down the hill, heading southeast. The horse's long legs ate up the ground with ease as they traversed the rolling plains of golden grass. The sun beat down out of a cloudless blue sky and the same breeze that ruffled the grass, stirred the branches of the scattered coniferous trees dotted around the landscape.

A short while later, horse and rider rounded an enormous outcrop of rock and the Drad estate lay before them. It consisted mainly of a grand manor house surrounded by cultivated farmland, the ploughed fields abundant with crops. There were also three small outbuildings grouped close to the house and as Elsynia drew nearer, she identified one as a stable.

The mer swung out of the saddle and leading Snowflake inside, looped the bay's reins around a handy post. The horse nickered and nudged her impatiently, chewing hungrily at the bit. Elsynia glanced around the stable; it was empty of any other horses or people, so she moved a hay rack close enough for Snowflake to reach.

The ride here had given the swordswoman's brain a chance to slowly re-engage as the last of the alcohol fumes had cleared away. She had had time to turn over Malacath's words in her head and already disliked the sound of Lord Drad, whoever he may be. Even if the creatures enslaved were classed as non-sentient beings, that didn't make it right.

Elsynia left the bay mare munching happily and circled around the crop fields to reach the beautiful manor. Walking up to the ornate front door, she knocked once, then opened it and stepped inside.

The house was equally lovely inside as it was out, decorated with sumptuous rugs and expensive landscape paintings. A fire crackled in an enormous hearth, filling the ground floor with warmth. A finely-dressed Dunmer stood up from a seat near the fireplace, turning to face her with a look of surprise. "I welcome you to my humble home, stranger. What brings you to this place?"

"Are you Lord Drad?" Elsynia asked, just to be sure.

"Yes, I am," he responded, looking a little confused. "Can I help you?"

"You can. I want to know if you keep ogres as slaves to work in your mines." The swordswoman was straight to the point, as always.

"I do. Can you think of a better use for the mindless beasts? Under my eye, they do some good in this world." His tone was proud.

Elsynia kept her temper under control with difficulty and her voice came out cold and even. "It's wrong. No creature should be enslaved, be they ogre or elf."

Lord Drad bristled angrily at her blatant disapproval. "I don't recall asking for your opinion on the subject. If you have just come here to criticize, please leave; you are no longer welcome."

"Gladly," she retorted, glaring at him as he turned his back on her and strode up the stairs. She had the confirmation she needed. The swordswoman moved to go back through the front door and almost walked into a pretty female Dunmer, wearing clothes every bit as rich and fine as Lord Drad's.

"Lady Drad?" guessed Elsynia, looking her up and down. The Dark Elf nodded, a distressed expression on her face.

"Please leave," she whispered. "I'm afraid you've upset my husband. Go before he loses his temper."

The swordswoman snorted, entirely unimpressed with this threat. Lord Drad hadn't even been carrying a weapon and his physique certainly didn't suggest that he was any good at hand-to-hand combat. "I'm leaving right now. But I'm freeing those slaves before I go."

Lady Drad bit her lip, looking torn, then blurted out. "He works them in Bleak Mine. It's terrible. The guards beat the creatures mercilessly. That's all I can tell you. Now please, go."

Elsynia regarded her with surprise as the woman hurried away. "Thank you," she called, astonished at Lady Drad's differing attitude but nonetheless grateful for the information. The Dunmer didn't acknowledge her, so the mer shrugged and strode back out the front door. She brought a hand up to her eyes to shield against the sun and, scanning the horizon, she spotted what looked like the mine on a sloping hillside to the east.

The elf walked through the fields, until she had almost reached the dilapidated door to the mine; loosening her longsword in its sheath, she carefully approached the entrance. The wooden door gave easily, with some encouragement from her sword, and she ducked into the cave; only to be confronted instantly with two startled guards.

Elsynia didn't wait for them to recover and instead charged quickly to close the distance before the one carrying a bow could regain the presence of mind to fire. The other one, a Dunmer, drew a claymore and she quickly ducked underneath his strike. The heavy blade whistled over Elsynia's head, almost clipping her helmet, and she retaliated by hitting him in the face with an armoured elbow. The Dark Elf staggered back with a howl of pain, clutching his shattered, bloodied nose.

There was a loud screech of metal on metal as an arrow bounced off her shoulder, the impact knocking her back several paces. Elsynia swore and spun around to see the archer, a Khajiit, backing away from her and reloading. She strode forward, attempting to close with him, but he dodged away nimbly in his lighter armour.

The swordswoman caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and avoided the second swing of the claymore just in time. Spinning, she kicked the legs out from under the Dunmer and then almost fell on top of him as another arrow slammed into her cuirass at close range, staggering her.

Gritting her teeth, Elsynia made a swift decision; turning, she extended a hand and blue lightning crackled from her fingertips, the deadly Destruction magicka shooting across the cavern. The Khajiit was thrown off his feet and slammed into the rocky cave wall. She swiftly crossed the room and brought her longsword down on the badly singed archer. His groans of pain were abruptly cut off.

Behind her, the Dunmer climbed back to his feet, spitting out blood and gripping his claymore tightly. Elsynia met his next strike head on, the ring of metal on metal echoing through the cavern as the swords clashed. She turned his blade aside with an easy twist and he stumbled forward as his claymore failed to connect. She decapitated him with a single powerful stroke and the headless body slumped to the floor.

The mer wiped her blade on the fallen Khajiit's leather armour but didn't bother to sheath it. Her sharp ears caught the sound of distant shouting echoing along the stone passageways of the mine. No doubt she would have company again soon. Stepping across the floor, Elsynia took up a stance in the narrowest part of the passage, and waited.

Ten minutes, she was still standing, considerably worse for wear, the ground around her soaked in blood and littered with corpses. The swordswoman leaned heavily against the cave wall and drained another healing potion. She felt the last of her wounds seal up and gave a sigh of relief.

The mer then checked her magicka stores – she had called on several more minor Destruction spells when the fighting had gotten tricky – however her reserves were not depleted enough for her to reach for a potion.

She was battered, bruised and bloody, but she was alive. The mercenaries hired to guard the mine had been well-trained veterans; her side ached from where an axe-wielding Nord had crushed her Dwarven armour into her skin. A potion had taken care of the wound but the damaged armour would continue to hamper her until she took it to a blacksmith.

The elf moved carefully over the blood-slicked floor and around the bodies, continuing warily down the mine's network of tunnels. The last passageway opened out into large space; six deeply unhappy-looking ogres were locked inside reinforced cages.

Elsynia narrowed her eyes and let out low growl of anger at the sight. Using the key she had lifted from one of the dead guards, the mer unlocked each cage, and then swiftly moved out of the large creatures' way; just in case they decided to take out their frustration at captivity on her. However, they appeared more interested in the prospect of freedom and set off at a shambling run up the tunnel towards the exit.

Following at a safe distance, the swordswoman emerged into the sunlight after the last ogre and squinted as her eyes readjusted to the brightness. She heard a loud, distressed whinnying that she instantly identified as Snowflake. Swearing, she bolted across the fields towards the outbuildings, heedless of the crops crushed under her boots.

Elsynia arrived at the stable to find Snowflake being watched intently by a curious ogre. The horse was clearly upset with the attention and proximity of the creature; dancing at the end of her reins, the bay had her ears flat against her head. The elf soothed Snowflake with gentle words and, when she could get close enough, soft strokes on her flanks. The ogre lost interest and shambled off to join its fellows, who appeared to be attempting to break into Lord Drad's house.

When the mare had been sufficiently calmed, Elsynia coaxed a steady canter out of her and they set off once more for Malacath's shrine.

xxx

Parwen and Ah-Malz emerged into yet another cavern and a glad cry echoed through the space. "Ah-Malz!"

The Argonian's face lit up, joy and relief evident on his features. "Dar-Ma!" He strode across the cave, to where the young woman was pressed eagerly against the bars of a cage set into a rocky recess.

Parwen planted herself firmly in the centre of the cavern, facing the passageways leading in and out of the area. She was studiously ignoring the two Argonians behind her, in an attempt to give them some measure of privacy. They had their heads close together, Dar-Ma clasping Ah-Malz's hands through the bars. Low, loving murmurs drifted over.

The Bosmer's eyesight began to deteriorate, as the effect of the potion she had drank earlier started to wear off. Grimacing, she downed her last night-eye potion and tossed the empty bottle aside. Parwen blinked and her vision flickered, taking on that sharp blue hue and once more penetrating the shadows with ease. She scanned the cavern anxiously for further signs of attack, bow at the ready.

The next second, the archer nearly leapt into the air in shock as an echoing bang rang out from behind her. Whirling around, she saw that Dar-Ma had retreated to the back of her cage and Ah-Malz was pounding at the lock on the cell, the screeching of stressed metal reverberating through the tunnels.

"I could just pick the lock, you know!" Parwen called over the noise.

The swordsman simply grunted, "No time."

As it happened, Parwen was in complete agreement with his assessment. She didn't want to spend any more time than was necessary down here, and they had already drawn the attention of the Brethren, so it wasn't as if they were trying to avoid detection. When the Bosmer strained her ears past the quiet dripping of water, she was almost certain she could hear the sound of faint screaming in the distance. It set her nerves humming with as much tension as her bowstring.

With a resounding clang, the lock snapped and Ah-Malz wrenched the door of Dar-Ma's cell open. The liberated Argonian hurried out and threw her arms around the Warder. He embraced her back strongly, leaning down to murmur something in her ear.

Dar-Ma flushed, her scales darkening in hue, and smiled at him with her usual warmth for the first time since they had arrived.

Parwen fidgeted restlessly, glancing at the gaping mouths of the tunnels. "I hate to break up the reunion, but can you two catch up later? I really think we should get out of here as soon as possible."

Ah-Malz nodded, acknowledging the sense of her words, and reluctantly released Dar-Ma. He moved forward to take the lead down the passageway that they had entered through. The Bosmer gestured for the young Argonian woman to go ahead, and then fell into step behind her, an arrow poised to fire at a moment's notice.

"I haven't forgotten you, Parwen," Dar-Ma said earnestly over her shoulder. "Thank you for coming with Ah-Malz to rescue me."

Parwen spared a quick, sunny smile for the younger woman. "Don't thank me prematurely. We're not out of the woods yet."

xxx

_Good job! No one owns ogres but ME! And I fixed that maggot! The ogres own Drad! Make Drad eat dirt! Bwah-hah-hah! Now you get a present. Keep up the good work. And be nice to my little brothers!_

Elsynia sighed in relief as Malacath's voice faded from her mind once more. She straightened up, and then stiffened as a strong tingle of foreign magicka ran over her skin. The air shimmered and warped in front of her and an enormous Dwemer warhammer materialised on the ground at the foot of Malacath's shrine. Volendrung.

The swordswoman knelt and appreciatively ran a hand over the haft of the weapon. She could feel the powerful enchantments swirling within the metal, even if she couldn't identify exactly what they were.

Taking a firm grip, the elf lifted Volendrung. Or rather, attempted too. She staggered with the sheer weight and then lowered it quickly back to the ground. She was strong but she wasn't _that_ strong.

Elsynia glanced at Snowflake, who was tethered to a nearby tree. The horse snorted and tossed her head, giving her mistress what the mer imagined to be a scornful look. With a sinking feeling, Elsynia remembered that she only knew one feather spell.

_It's going to be a _very_ long trip back to Bruma._

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter; please do so again for this one! ;D**


	5. The Baited Trap

**A/N:*****looks ****sheepish*****Hi ****there. ****It ****has ****been ****an ****embarrassingly ****long ****time ****since ****I ****updated ****this**** – ****ah, ****six ****weeks ****actually. ****Sorry. ****I ****do, ****however, ****have ****an ****excuse, ****in ****that ****I ****started ****university ****mid-September ****and ****I****'****m ****literally ****staggering ****under ****the ****workload. ****Also ****the ****whole ****living-away-from-home ****thing ****takes ****something ****getting ****used ****to. ****So ****there ****has ****been ****much ****upheaval.**

**Also, ****my ****computer ****was ****recently ****attacked ****by ****a ****virus**** – ****and ****lo ****and ****behold, ****half ****of ****the ****files ****on ****my ****USB ****vanished, ****including ****my ****stories ****folder; ****which ****incidentally ****contained ****the ****first ****third ****of ****this ****chapter. ****That ****sort ****of ****thing ****really ****kills ****the ****drive ****to ****write. ****Luckily, ****though, ****I ****eventually ****found ****the ****files ****in ****a ****hidden ****folder ****and ****manage ****to ****rescue ****some ****of ****them, ****despite ****the ****fact ****that ****they ****had ****been ****corrupted.*****wipes ****sweatdrop***

**So the moral of the story is: back up your work in about twenty different places. Which I have now done. xD**

**One ****more ****thing: ****thank ****you ****to **Kat **and **DualKatanas**,** **both ****of ****whom ****were ****the ****only ****ones ****to ****review ****chapter ****four. ****Seriously ****people, ****you ****had ****six ****weeks!**

**Disclaimer: ****Oblivion ****still ****does ****not ****belong ****to ****me. ****No ****matter ****how ****much ****I ****wish ****it ****so.**

* * *

**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter ****Five: The ****Baited ****Trap**

* * *

"Here."

The great hammer Volendrung thumped down on the ground in front of Martin and he was forced to jerk back quickly, or else have his toes embedded into the floor.

"One Daedric artifact, as requested."

The future Emperor looked up at the Hero of Kvatch. She was standing beside his table, in the great hall of Cloud Ruler Temple, swaying slightly on the spot. The mer was caked in mud from head to toe and dusted with snow. Her face, what could be seen of it under the grime, was chalk white and the dark circles under her eyes made him think that she hadn't slept at all for the past few days.

"I came directly from Malacath's shrine." Her tone was dull and exhausted. "Now, if don't you _mind_, I'm going to bed. Possibly for several years." Without waiting for a reply, Elsynia turned on her heel and marched – if such an unsteady gait could be referred to as such – across the hall and through the enormous doors into the west wing. They slammed shut behind her with a loud boom.

Baurus moved forward to stand next to Martin, looking after the elf, his expression torn between annoyance and amusement. "That was impolite of her. I wonder what happened."

With a sigh, Martin settled back in his seat and examined Volendrung with interest. "I'm sure we'll hear all about it when she wakes up."

xxx

The last piece of Elsynia's mud-spattered Dwarven armour hit the floor with a clang.

_Finally_. The swordswoman sank down onto a bedroll, dressed only in her underwear. The thin bedding felt exquisitely soft to her exhausted body. Within seconds, she was deeply asleep. She slept long and dreamt of nothing.

Many hours later, Elsynia's eyes fluttered slowly open and then closed again. An enormous contented yawn stretched her jaws and she arched her spine like a cat. There were several satisfying clicking sounds as her joints popped and settled, stiff from lying so long in one position.

The elf reluctantly opened her eyes again. A view of the low wooden ceiling of the sleeping quarters met her gaze. Turning her head to the left and then the right, she was rather disconcerted to see that the room looked virtually identical to when she had fallen asleep; the other bedrolls were all unoccupied and the candles were low and guttering. For a moment, Elsynia wondered if perhaps she had woken up after only a few minutes. However, the fact her body was deliciously warm and her limbs felt heavy from a long period of sleep, reassured her otherwise.

_I should probably get up._

Despite this, the swordswoman was reluctantly to move even an inch. Her body was indicating that this was the most comfortable it had felt in a long time and was quite happy just where it was. Elsynia indulged for a few minutes more, content to lie there, enjoying the sensation of being half-asleep and half-awake. It reminded the mer of being a child, when her favourite thing to do had been to drag all of the blankets in the house into her bed and build herself an enormous downy nest. She had contentedly dozed her mornings away, just like a small creature curled up in the warmth of its burrow.

Feeling herself starting to drift off to sleep again, Elsynia rolled over with a groan and started pulling on a pair of thick woollen socks. And then another pair. It was warm inside the Temple buildings but outside it was sure to be bitterly cold. She pulled on various layers of clothing, and as she did so, the drowsy fog around the elf's brain slowly started to clear. As it did, her mind cast itself back over her most recent memories and a horrible realization dawned upon Elsynia. She was going to have to apologise.

The swordswoman was aware that, in general, she was extremely blunt and outspoken; but there was a fine line between being blunt, and being rude. Elsynia had absolutely no problem with being rude to people she disliked. But Martin, even leaving aside the fact he was the de-facto Emperor, was someone she both liked and respected. And the mer had been extremely short with him. And had almost dropped a warhammer on his feet.

Elsynia groaned and buried her face in her knees. Her pride rebelled instinctively at the mere thought of apologising. She squashed it down with difficulty and – after a quick swipe with a cloth to take off the worst of the dried mud – donned her armour and weaponry.

With swift glance around to make sure she had left nothing behind, the elf opened to the door to the outside world, bracing for the sudden wave of cold. She wasn't disappointed. Elsynia shuddered as the freezing wind tore through her; she felt the chill even though she was wearing as many layers of clothing as she could comfortably fit underneath her armour.

_Get __over __it_, she told herself sternly. Squaring her shoulders, the swordswoman marched up the set of sunken stone steps and emerged into the courtyard proper.

Overhead, stars glittered coldly in the vast expanse of the night sky, like white diamonds carelessly scattered across a black velvet cloth. Far away in the east, a faint glow lightened the horizon, signaling the imminent arrival of dawn and transforming the surrounding Jerall Mountains into black silhouettes. Snow had also fallen during the night and Cloud Ruler Temple lay under a thick blanket, two foot deep. Little trails had been trampled back and forth between the various sentry posts and the heat radiating from the enormous braziers had melted a small area of snow around each one.

Up here, in the mountains, there was none of the ambiguity that was present in the lowlands. Summer was gone and autumn had indisputably arrived.

Elsynia blinked up at the stars in astonishment and then at the approaching light of dawn. _Surely __I __couldn__'__t __have __been __asleep __for __that __long__…__?_

Turning, the swordswoman sought the nearest Blade. There was a pair of guards flanking either side of the main door into the great hall. Elsynia strode towards the closest one, following the path through the snow that the sentries had already forged. As the elf approached, the woman's gaze shifted slightly to meet her; her face, what could be seen of it under her helmet, was curious. "Greetings, Knight Sister. Can I help you?"

The mer wracked her brains, searching for the name that matched to the Breton's face. _Ah. __Caroline. __That__'__s __it._ "Good morning to you, Knight Sister. Yes, you can. I don't suppose you know what time it is?"

Caroline's mouth might have twitched in momentary amusement. "I do, though not exactly. I started duty at six o'clock. That was perhaps about half an hour ago." The icy air turned her breath into clouds of white vapour.

Despite the fact she was expecting it, Elsynia was still a little surprised at the confirmation. It had been mid-morning when she had arrived at the Temple; she had slept for almost an entire day.

"Ah, thank you." The swordswoman inclined her head, slightly awkward. She wasn't sure of how to address the Blades; they were certainly more formal than the Fighters' Guild anyway, who seldom, if at all, stood on ceremony. Caroline nodded in acknowledgment.

Elsynia took a deep breath and reminded herself of why she was here; then she squared her shoulders and entered the great hall. The warmth of the fire washed over her and the elf's stiff posture unconsciously relaxed. The interior of the temple was rather beautiful; she hadn't yet become inured to the sight and so it was always the first thing she noticed.

High, carved beams arched gracefully across the upper half of the great hall, supported by a double row of strong wooden pillars running the length of the room. Katanas of Blades past hung from the arches, supported by an intricate webbing of wooden latticework, and burnished to a gleaming gold in the firelight. An enormous fireplace dominated the far end of the hall, and sconces brimming with leaping flames of their own hung from the parted jaws of beautifully carved dragons. However, despite the elegant design and artistic beauty of the temple, there was still something...almost homely about it to Elsynia. An intangible sense of comfort and familiarity.

The floor was mostly taken up with wooden tables and benches arrayed in loose rows, with a scattering of chairs around the fireplace. Martin sat in his customary spot, halfway down the hall at a table piled high with books and sheets of parchment; illuminated in a pool of candlelight. Baurus, as ever, stood a discreet distance away, guarding the former priest. Elsynia saw him and sighed. She would just have to unbend her pride enough to get the words out.

The swordswoman strode down the hall and came to a halt in front of Martin's table. He looked up at her, curiosity flickering in his blue eyes.

"I apologise." The elf's voice was stiff but undoubtedly sincere.

The heir to the Empire tilted his head. "For what?"

Elsynia stared at him in disbelief. Was he going to make her say it? Her quick temper flared instinctively but she ruthlessly squashed it down. It would only make her lash out angrily and that would hardly convince Martin that she was sorry. She would just have to say it. "For what happened yesterday; I was unacceptably rude. I was tired, but I still should have been mindful of what I was saying."

Martin merely looked at her for a long moment with an unreadable gaze. Elsynia barely resisted the urge to fidget nervously, suddenly feeling like a small child again; for some reason his stare made her feel as she did when Alawen used to scold her for bad behaviour.

Then the former priest smiled warmly. "Apology accepted. Please, will you sit with me for a while?" He placed his current sheaf of notes aside and closed the Mysterium Xarxes; clearly ready for a break from working on it.

The elf almost melted into the floor in relief, but caught herself in time, and slipped gladly into a free seat instead. "Of course." She ignored the sound of Baurus chuckling quietly under his breath at her expense.

Something else, a niggling thought that hadn't quite fully formed until that moment, suddenly coalesced in Elsynia's mind. "Martin, where is Volendrung?" She flicked another quick glance around the hall but it wasn't immediately obvious, if it was there at all.

"Ah, I had it moved to my chambers." A spark of humour flared in the heir's eyes. "The weight rather surprised Baragon when he picked it up – he expressed that opinion that _you_ must have had someone else bring it to Cloud Ruler for you."

Elsynia's eyes narrowed. "Oh, he did, did he?"

Baurus chuckled again. "Don't hurt him too badly. We need every Blade fighting fit for this war."

"Well, I'll let him off this time; if only because he's partially right. I may have had a little help from a feather spell," the elf admitted reluctantly. "It was a long trip and Snowflake wouldn't have thanked me for making her carry _all_ of the extra weight – in fact, I don't think she'll ever forgive me as it is, even though the spell _did_ halve the weight of the warhammer."

Martin laughed quietly and shook his head. "That horse of yours has more personality than quite a few of the people I've known over the years. Also, I'll admit to being curious on another point – it's not that I'm ungrateful for your haste in returning, but why did you push so hard to get here so quickly? I would not have begrudged you your rest along the way."

All the humour had fled from Elsynia's face as he had spoken. "Unfortunately, I didn't have much of a choice. I was attacked by a group of Mythic Dawn assassins when I was returning back through Anvil. With the aid of the city guard, I managed to account for most of them, but a few of their number fled up the Gold Road – the same direction I was travelling, towards Kvatch and Skingrad. I had absolutely no desire to be attacked in my sleep, so instead of risking of the possibility of one of them stumbling across me while I rested, I chose to press on – incidentally, another reason that Snowflake hates me at the moment..."

The next hour or so passed in enjoyable conversation, fluctuating between issues both serious and light-hearted, as the sun rose higher in the sky and outside the world began to awaken. Elsynia relaxed more and more as the conversation went on; laughing and participating in the banter and gentle teasing. Martin and Baurus were both pleasant company to be in; she wondered if that would change when he officially became Emperor. He was still so unused to the role; he talked and joked with them freely now, but would he become more formal as time passed? The elf supposed it was inevitable, and the thought made something within her ache a little with sadness. Even though she had only known Martin for a relatively short time, she liked him, and didn't want to lose the fledgling friendship to the rigors of his coming responsibility as Emperor. So much was changing.

It was only when the bright, white sunlight of late morning began to pour in through the high windows of the great hall, that Elsynia realised how long she had lingered. The swordswoman leapt to her feet, startling Martin and Baurus considerably; she had remembered with dismay that Parwen and Ah-Malz were waiting in Chorrol, and she was already overdue by several days in meeting them.

Upon hearing this, Martin nodded, though he looked disappointed that their conversation would be cut short. "I understand. I will send word with a messenger when I decipher the next part of the ritual. Good luck to you, my friend."

Baurus merely saluted mockingly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Get going, Hero."

The elf growled challengingly. "You and I shall have a reckoning when I return, Knight Brother. Prepare to be beaten."

Baurus grinned. "Looking forward to it already."

Half an hour later, Elsynia and Snowflake were galloping down the winding, snowy road to Bruma. The full day of sleep for both horse and rider had left them energized and eager; the ride was enjoyable, and the cold wind of the mountains seemed invigorating for the moment, rather than uncomfortable.

They arrived at Bruma at noon, slowing down and entering the city at a walk, amongst all the foot traffic streaming in and out through the North Gate. Elsynia was eventually forced to dismount and lead Snowflake by the reins, to avoid trampling some idiots in the crowd. Thankfully, the bay mare seemed to have forgiven her for the harsh journey to Cloud Ruler – or at least forgotten it – though perhaps that was more due to the comfortable day spent in the temple's stables than anything else.

The same snow that had fallen overnight at the temple had also settled in a fine layer over the streets of Bruma, dusting the rugged Nordic-style timber-and-stone houses in white ice crystals. However, as pretty as the scene looked, Elsynia was intent on hurrying through it as quickly as possible.

Steering Snowflake carefully around a brazier, the elf had nearly reached the East Gate when she felt a hard tug on her cloak. She whirled around and her sword was halfway from its sheath, before her brain kicked in and she realized she wasn't being attacked by a Mythic Dawn agent.

A startled Argonian was backing away, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. "I meant no offence," he rasped.

The swordswoman still glared at him suspiciously. "What is it you want from me, then?"

"You are the one known as the Hero of Kvatch?" he enquired.

Elsynia narrowed her eyes, and her hand crept discreetly towards her longsword again. Just in case. "Yes. That is what they call me. Why?"

The Argonian reached inside his shirt and drew out an envelope. "I have been instructed to deliver this message to you."

She hesitated briefly, then took the proffered item. The envelope was made of thick, creamy parchment – expensive stuff. Flipping it over, the mer broke the seal and withdrew a single sheet of parchment. The words were inked in a flowing, elegant hand:

_**To Elsynia;**** Protector of the Fighters Guild, Hero of Kvatch.**_

_**I realize that during our last meeting, you made it exceptionally clear that you wanted nothing to do with the organisation to which I belong; however, on behalf of said organisation, I now extend a different offer altogether. You are in no way obligated to accept, nor does the previous offer have any bearing upon this new one.**_

_**It has come to our attention that in your capacity as 'the Hero of Kvatch', you are regularly journeying to the plane of Oblivion, to the place known as the Deadlands. In this area, there are many highly prized alchemy ingredients; due to the danger and difficulty of reaching their native habitat they are both rare and expensive.**_

_**We propose that while in the realm of Oblivion, you harvest the aforementioned ingredients – at no extra inconvenience to yourself, as you already perform this duty for another alchemist – and sell them exclusively to us. Enclosed with this letter is a list of the prices we offer; I think that you will find them more than reasonable. **_

_**Also, if you accept this proposal, it of course goes without saying that you are entirely exempt from the other aspect of business that our organization deals in; in other words, you are under our protection. We will accept no contracts for your person.**_

_**If you do decide to take us up on our offer, journey to Anvil. Look in the wooden barrel behind The Count's Arms for further instruction.**_

_**I hope that you consider our proposal carefully.**_

_**LL**_

Elsynia could only stare at the piece of parchment in her hand; numb with shock. Despite the ambiguity of the wording to an outsider, she had no doubt as to exactly whom it was that was contacting her. _What __the _hell_? __I__'__ve __never __even __heard __of __the __Dark __Brotherhood __doing __anything _remotely _like __this!_

She abruptly recalled the messenger and her head snapped up, intent on getting answers out of _someone,_ even if it was only the go-between–

The street around her was completely deserted. The Argonian had vanished.

xxx

On a hillside above Bruma, two hooded figures sat astride horses, watching the city below. One horse was a fairly ordinary chestnut stallion, who occasionally betrayed his impatience with the wait by stamping the frozen earth and snorting, sending out great plumes of white vapor into the cold air. The other was a black mare, with peculiar purple tint to her coat; in contrast, she stood completely, almost _unnaturally_ still. The subtle glow of her ominous red eyes merely added to this impression.

Her rider was similarly focused; his attention entirely concentrated on the streets of Bruma below. Lucien Lachance smiled in satisfaction within the shadows of his hood, as the distant tiny figure of an Argonian approached the equally distant figure of a certain young woman, whose progress they had been tracking for most of the morning.

"Speaker, are you sure this plan will work?"

Lucien turned to regard his companion. Delan was his new Silencer and the Imperial was still in the process of showing him the ropes. The lean Redguard was clad in the usual shrouded armour, and sat in the saddle with his characteristic calm confidence. However, though his dark eyes were normally as unreadable as his face, today they showed a rare hint of emotion. Worry.

The man was far from stupid – not that he ever would have been selected as a Silencer if he were – and was aware both of the current troubled state of the Brotherhood and of the importance of this mission.

"No."

Delan's mask slipped for an instant, betraying his surprise. He recovered quickly, his features smoothing out once more into impassiveness. "No, Speaker?"

"No. I am not certain. But I have examined all options and I believe that this plan is the one that has the best chance of succeeding."

_Of __course_, the senior assassin mused internally as he switched his gaze back to the two distant figures once more, _the __likelihood __of __that __success __is __almost __entirely __based __on __my __character __assessment __of __the __elf. __This __time, __I__'__ll __see __if __my __skills __are __as __good __as __I __think __they __are. __The __fate __of __the __Brotherhood __may __very __well __depend __upon __it._

xxx

After a fruitless search of the surrounding area, Elsynia gave up in disgust. The Argonian was long gone, having made good his escape while she was preoccupied with the letter.

Good mood thoroughly ruined, she left Bruma in a towering black temper. Even Snowflake seemed to sense that now was not a sensible time to play up and responded obediently to every direction the swordswoman gave her.

Elsynia's anger seemed urge the horse on and they ate up the distance between Bruma and Chorrol; riding all day, they briefly stopped to snatch five or six hours sleep at an abandoned bandit camp, before rising at the crack of dawn and pushing onwards. Consequently, when they arrived at the outskirts of Chorrol, it was still early the next morning.

A fine, pervasive, misty sort of rain was falling and the sky was a dreary, foggy grey. Everything was sodden; including, by this time, the elf's dark green cloak, which had initially kept her relatively dry but now just clung wetly to her gold-coloured armour.

Elsynia, her anger abated overnight, had slowed the pace to a gentle canter, which Snowflake handled with ease. The bay too was drenched, her coat thick with water droplets and ruffled into wet, furry spikes.

The city wall was looming up ahead as they passed by Odiil Farm, shrouded in the grey mist of rain. It drew up strong memories within the mer; the farm had been the site of her first solo mission for the Fighters Guild, almost three and a half years ago.

A brief smile touched Elsynia's lips and her left hand unconsciously caressed Chillrend's hilt. The enchanted shortsword had been her reward for ridding Odiil Farm of goblins; she still vividly remembered standing in a downpour of rain, peering past wet strands of hair hanging in her eyes and watching a wave of the snarling green-skinned creatures charging haphazardly across the fields towards herself and the two Odiil brothers. One of them, the elf recalled absently, the younger brother, Antus, was badly wounded in that fight. He would have died of his injuries had she not healed him, with her then-newly-minted skill in Restoration. That detail in particular had stuck in her mind because Elsynia remembered thinking – in adrenaline-hazed aftermath of battle– that it was odd how _saving_ a life brought the same thrill of triumph as did _taking_ one.

The swordswoman snapped out of her daze of remembrance as they came into the shadow of the city wall. After settling Snowflake in the North Country Stables, she entered Chorrol through the South Gate and began hunting for her comrades.

It was early in the morning; coupled with the fact that it was raining, this meant that most people were still indoors and the streets were nearly deserted. 'Nearly' being the operative word. It took Elsynia merely a couple of minutes find a lurking beggar and coax the information from him, with the help of a little gold – only to be immediately irritated with herself for being so slow on the uptake. _I __should __have __guessed __they__'__d __be __sleeping __at __The __Grey __Mare, _the elf thought wryly to herself as she approached the inn. _What __a __waste __of __money._

The mer ducked under the low door lintel and entered the dim, smoky interior. She had been planning on having something to eat while waiting for Ah-Malz and Parwen to wake up, but to her surprise, she spotted two very familiar figures already sitting at the bar.

Ah-Malz glanced up reflexively at the sound of the door opening; he started in surprise at the sight of the swordswoman, and then a rare, broad smile spread across his face. "Good to see you again, my friend," he rumbled, sliding off the barstool with deceptive ease for someone of his bulk.

Elsynia found herself grinning in reply. "Likewise," was all she managed before the Argonian swept her up in a rib-cracking hug. She returned it, pleased by what she assumed was the obvious success of the rescue mission for Dar-Ma; few things could provoke this kind of jubilation in the normally stoic Warder but the young woman in question was one of them. "I take it everything went well?"

"_No. _It mowsh shcertainly did _not_."

The swordswoman blinked in astonishment. "Parwen?" she asked cautiously. The Bosmer's voice had been so utterly miserable that it had barely even sounded like her. The other elf hadn't even turned around to face her since she had arrived, instead remaining hunched over the bar, drinking deeply from a mug in front of her.

"Parwen, what's wrong?" she tried again. Now that Elsynia was looking more closely, even the archer's posture seemed to radiate the desolation that had been so clear in her voice. The swordswoman flicked an alarmed glance up at Ah-Malz. Surely Dar-Ma hadn't been hurt after all...? But no, that made no sense. If the other Argonian had been hurt or killed, the Warder would have been the one drinking himself into a stupor, not Parwen – and he certainly wouldn't have greeted Elsynia so cheerfully upon her arrival. But then what...?

The mer's confusion must have shown, because Ah-Malz's expression lost some of its cheer and sympathy flickered across his face. "Onyx was killed."

_Ah. _Suddenly Parwen's uncharacteristic gloom made a lot more sense.

"_Yesh. _Those _barshturds_ killed my baby," the archer hiccupped miserably. "My poor little Onyx..." Her head fell forward onto her folded arms.

Elsynia slid into the seat next to the other elf and patted her awkwardly on the back. Parwen had bought the Cheydinhal Black nearly five years ago, having had seen her in the Black Waterside Stables and adored her almost instantly. Even as a tiny filly, the horse had shared the archer's high-spirited nature, and as she had grown and matured, Onyx had become speed, strength and beauty incarnate.

"I _loved_ that horse," Parwen mumbled morosely into her arms.

"I know." Snowflake might be the most irritating, contrary, disrespectful horse on Nirn, but Elsynia had owed her for years and had grown attached to the bay; if the mare were to die, it would grieve the elf. For Parwen and Onyx, who had had a mutual love and respect for one another, it had to be far worse.

The swordswoman glanced up as Ah-Malz dropped back into the seat next to the two mer. "What exactly happened at Hackdirt? How did you find Dar-Ma?"

Ah-Malz leaned back in his chair, his countenance darkening. "Well, we arrived to find that the village was actually a secluded little place with a violent hatred of outsiders..."

The innkeeper showed up and served them a hot breakfast but Elsynia barely even noticed what she was eating, so involved was she in the Warder's story.

"...and we had just escaped from the caverns with Dar-Ma, when a whole bunch of the Brethren came swarming up the ladders after us. There were too many to fight and we barely made it to the horses in time; a group of townspeople had tried to sabotage our escape route by killing them. They had only managed to kill Onyx by the time we arrived though – and she'd taken a few of them with her, clever beast – so we fought them off, grabbed the remaining two horses, and then escaped into the forest."

Ah-Malz drained his tankard of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Took us the rest of the day to get back to Chorrol too; Blossom, Dar-Ma's horse, was badly hurt by the villagers before we turned up and she was almost lame by the time we cleared the forest, poor beast. I don't think she'll be fit to be ridden again." He fell silent, apparently drained by the effort of so much talking, unaccustomed to it as he was.

Elsynia just shook her head in disgust as she sipped from her goblet. She felt angry all over again; on both Parwen's and Dar-Ma's behalf. "Bastards. I hope the Legion burns the place to the ground again."

The Argonian rumbled in agreement. Parwen, who had barely stirred while the Warder had been talking, muttered into her arms, "Would sherve them right if they did."

They sat in silence for a few minutes more; then Ah-Malz grunted as if something had just occurred to him. "I remembered to pick this up for you." He leaned down and reached into the shadows under the bar.

Elsynia watched with curiosity, then delight as he withdrew her now-repaired Elven shield. "Ah, thank you!" she exclaimed, gladly taking it from the big Argonian as he held it out. The swordswoman flipped the shield over, examining it minutely. Rasheda had done an excellent job – the elf had been privately unsure as to whether the shield could have even been salvaged at all. Now only a few, thin, faint silvery scars tracing across the surface even betrayed that it had been damaged at all.

"She did, however, recommend that you consider looking for a replacement," Ah-Malz rasped. "Those join lines were unavoidable due to the severity of the damage, and will be potential weak spots in the future – they'll break more easily under stress than the rest of the shield."

Elsynia nodded, still happy with what the blacksmith had accomplished. It was far better than she had hoped for. With one, easy, practised movement, she slung the Elven shield onto her back, where it settled in its accustomed place; comfortable and familiar.

Companionable silence fell for a short time, each of them retreating into their own thoughts. Parwen eventually broke it, turning her head sideways on her arms and looking up at Elsynia. "Sssho...how did your missshion for the artifact go?"

The swordswoman started out of her reverie. Her mood darkened as she recalled the message from the Dark Brotherhood; she had successfully managed to put it out of her mind until now. "As well as can be expected, I suppose..."

Elsynia recounted the details of everything that had happened to her; from the second visit paid to her by a Dark Brotherhood assassin, that night in Skingrad, right up until she had arrived in Chorrol this morning. Ah-Malz and Parwen listened intently, the latter albeit through a haze of alcohol.

The Argonian, whose frown had been growing throughout her narrative, asked to see the note from the Brotherhood. The elf fished it out from the bottom of her pack – where she had stuffed it in an attempt to ignore it – and straightened the crumpled parchment, before passing it over. Ah-Malz scanned the message, with Parwen peering over his shoulder, his scowl deepening even further as he read. "I don't know about this," he rasped, handing the parchment back to Elsynia. "Getting entangled with the Brotherhood seems like a bad idea to me. Slippery, dishonest bastards."

"I shecond that," agreed Parwen, her chin dropping to rest on the bar again. "Too bloody trickshee and shneaky by half, that lot. Comes of being asshashins, I shuppose."

"I know," sighed Elsynia, leaning back in her seat and running a hand through her hair. "And I would have quite happily thrown it on the nearest brazier, if it wasn't for that last part. I don't need extra money, no matter how good their prices are...and they must know that," she added reflectively. "That's why they've added that extra incentive – immunity. Their promise that no contracts will be accepted for my life."

"But how good is the word of an assassin?" countered Ah-Malz darkly, folding his steel-plated forearms. "They are deceitful by nature. You cannot trust them to adhere to that promise."

Elsynia grimaced. "But if there is even the smallest chance that they will...I already have one set of assassins after me; to take the Brotherhood out of the equation would be a huge relief," she said reluctantly, unwilling to admit it even to herself. "It's worth a few alchemical ingredients to get them off my back." The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

Ah-Malz was still clearly unhappy but acknowledged the sense of her words. "That is true." Parwen merely nodded, looking thoughtful in a vague, drunken sort of way.

Elsynia stared moodily at her goblet, rolling the pewter between her fingers. Despite having proved her point, she was discontented. The swordswoman didn't like the proposal anymore than Ah-Malz did; under normal circumstances she wouldn't even be considering the idea. But an invasion of Nirn by Daedric forces was definitely abnormal by anyone's standards – and the trip from Bruma to Chorrol had given her plenty of time to think about it. The elf had examined the situation as objectively as she could and – as much as she personally disliked the idea of getting involved with the Dark Brotherhood in any way – had come to the conclusion that, frankly, she needed every advantage she could get. "I'll just have to tread carefully around them," Elsynia muttered. "Fetching assassins. The whole thing is completely bizarre."

The Argonian nodded in reluctant agreement. "So...does this mean we will be going to Anvil next?" he rumbled.

"Ah..." the mer hadn't thought this far ahead. "I supposed we will...Martin said that he'll send a messenger when he works out what is needed for the next part of the ritual; until then, we're at something of a loose end. We can go and pick up these 'instructions' while we're waiting for him to send word – it might take a while." She frowned. "I feel like I'm never away from Anvil lately."

"And we can get Parwen a new horse when we're there," the Warder rasped.

The archer – who had been face-down on the bar and motionless for the last few minutes – shot upright in her seat with a surprising amount of coordination for someone who was drunk. "_No! _I don't want another horse!"

Elsynia shot an exasperated glance at Ah-Malz for his tactless approach. He shrugged his massive shoulders apologetically. "Parwen, no one's asking you to replace Onyx, but you _need_ a horse – for practicality's sake, if nothing else. Or are you planning to walk everywhere from now on?" she challenged.

"Yesh!" the other elf declared stubbornly.

After several more minutes of fruitless arguing, Ah-Malz and Elsynia exchanged a look over the archer's head. "This is pointless," the swordswoman muttered to him in an undertone. "Let's just get going. Hopefully we can persuade her along the way; maybe when she's a little more sober."

"You want to leave for Anvil immediately?" asked the Argonian.

"We may as well." The elf drained her goblet and banged it down on the bar. "No point in waiting around here."

The Warder nodded and dug some gold out of his pocket. He slid it across the bar to the innkeeper and then he and Elsynia helped Parwen out of her seat, supporting most of her weight. It took them half an hour to make the relatively short journey from the Grey Mare Inn, through the South Gate and out to the stables; hampered as they were by the stumbling, complaining Bosmer.

They then encountered the interesting logistics problem of how to fit three people onto two horses. Eventually, they made the weight distribution somewhat equal by putting Snowflake's saddlebags on Strider, Ah-Malz's powerfully-built chestnut stallion, and then hoisting Parwen up into the saddle behind Elsynia. Snowflake flattened her ears with displeasure at the extra passenger; a sharp tap from the swordswoman stopped her from attempting to bite Parwen.

Ah-Malz mounted up too and they set off, cantering along the Black Road. The rain had stopped and patches of blue sky were visible through the drifting grey clouds; the wet surface of the road gleamed silver with reflected sunlight. Droplets of rainwater clung to the surrounding undergrowth and trees, making them sparkle as if they were hung with diamonds.

However, all the natural beauty in the world couldn't distract Elsynia from the fact that the road to Anvil suddenly seemed to take an age to traverse when there was a drunken passenger on board.

"Elshneea?"

"Yes, Parwen?"

"I want a shweetroll."

"Mm."

"Can I have a shweetroll?"

"...No."

"_El! _Pleash?"

"No."

"_Why __not?_"

"You know why, Parwen."

"Pleash!"

"_No._ Since you neglected to actually bring any with you, we're not going to turn around and go back to Chorrol just because the mood takes you."

"But – but – I _want _a shweetroll!"

Elsynia ground her teeth audibly, her limited patience almost completely used up. Ah-Malz shot her an amused look over his shoulder; he was putting up with Parwen's inebriated whining with his usual stoic silence but he found the swordswoman's very obvious annoyance entertaining. She growled at him and he merely chuckled, turning back around in the saddle to face the front.

Several hours later Elsynia was fighting the urge to shove Parwen off the horse. The archer had progressed to mournful, off-key singing which echoed through the surrounding trees. This was bad enough by itself, but their progress along the road had carried them deep within the Great Forest; the loud singing had the unwanted, and potentially dangerous, side-effect of calling attention to their presence.

"_Parwen, __please __shut __up._"

"Wha'?"

"By the Gods..."

"_Wha'? _Wha'd I do _now_?"

"Don't make me hit you."

There was silence for a few blissful seconds. Then the Bosmer leaned forward and whispered loudly in the other elf's ear. "Elshneea?"

_I __will __be __understanding, __I __will __be __understanding,_ Elsynia chanted in her head. "Yes?"

"Whyssh Ah-Malsh stopped?"

"What?" Elsynia glanced up, frowning. Sure enough, about fifteen metres further along the road, the Warder had brought Strider to a halt. He appeared to staring at something in the near distance. The next second, he twisted around in the saddle and shouted back to the two mer, "Bandits ahead!"

The swordswoman's sharp eyes scanned the forest. To her disbelief, there was indeed a scattering of figures up ahead, dressed in the rough fur and leather armour that bandits favoured. She had entirely missed them, distracted as she was by her passenger.

Elsynia pulled hard on Snowflake's reins; the bay mare slowed to a stop and the elf vaulted from the saddle. Ah-Malz had already dismounted, and was moving swiftly to establish a position to defend from.

Further up the trail, the bandits realised that they had been spotted and, with a chorus of war cries, came charging down the road. Two of their number peeled off to the left and to the right, circling around through the trees in an attempt to flank the three warriors.

Elsynia swore viciously; they were outnumbered about fifteen to three and Parwen hardly counted as an asset in her current state. The swordswoman glanced up at her friend; the Bosmer was swaying slightly in the saddle, her gaze unfocused. It was doubtful she could _see _straight at the moment, let alone _shoot _straight.

Turning, Elsynia gathered her magicka and a concentrated fireball leapt from her palm, streaking through the trees to engulf the bandit who was attempting to flank them to the right; he fell with a cry. Spinning, she checked Ah-Malz's position; the Warder had taken up a stance further down the road, his back against a boulder to prevent any of them from getting behind him. The frontrunners had already reached him and his claymore flashed crimson in the sun.

The elf wasted a precious second in indecision; they sorely missed Parwen's excellent marksmanship in this situation. The archer could have picked off the remaining flanker in a heartbeat, freeing Elsynia to join Ah-Malz; as it was, the swordswoman had to choose which enemy was the bigger danger.

She hesitated a further second, and then swore in anger at herself. Lifting a gauntleted hand, Elsynia released a pulse of telekinesis. The ten or so bandits who had not yet reached Ah-Malz were thrown off their feet and high into the air, as an invisible force smashed into them with the force of a charging minotaur.

The swordswoman didn't pause again, even as she registered the alarming drain on her magicka reserves. She charged straight through the trees, aiming to cut off the left flanker before he could reach the horses and get behind them. The bandit – a brawny Khajiit – skidded to a halt as he saw her coming, and hefted his sword, a massive iron claymore. They clashed, exchanging a flurry of blows; when they drew back, the Khajiit was bleeding from a narrow slash on his neck. He hissed an insult, then renewed his attack; Elsynia barely parried the powerful overhand blow intended to cleave her in half. She dodged his next strike and then swept her longsword down, as if aiming for his legs. The Khajiit fell for her feint; as he moved to counter, the elf slashed upwards, cutting through his leather armour and slicing open his belly. Blood and entrails spilled out, accompanied by the bandit's scream of pain at the mortal wound; the swordswoman ended it quickly, her next strike finding his heart.

Elsynia was turning before the body had even finished crumpling to the ground. She sprinted out of the trees, bursting back out onto the road. The corpses of four attackers littered the ground around Ah-Malz; the remaining eight had recovered from being blasted off their feet by the telekinesis spell and were approaching him more warily than their fallen allies, having witnessed the Argonian's deadly skill with a blade. He waited for them, steel armour streaked with blood and sharp teeth bared in a battle snarl.

The elf immediately took advantage of the fact that they were focused on her fellow warrior to the point of neglecting what was going on in their surroundings; the first they knew of her presence was a crackling bolt of frost magicka as it struck down two of their number. They wheeled with cries of alarm to face the new danger, but Elsynia had already reached Ah-Malz's side, slipping into place beside him. "Took you long enough," rasped the Argonian.

"I was held up," the swordswoman murmured, eyeing the remaining six bandits. "I make that as three each, don't you?"

"Agreed," Ah-Malz said as the bandits gathered their courage and charged again, screaming war cries at the two Fighters Guild members. The elf and the Argonian moved in step, completely accustomed to working together and sure of the other's next move. Two swords flashed in the sunlight and struck out in synchronization; the warriors met the bandits' headlong charge and shattered it completely, hewing through their ranks with devastating ease.

Elsynia unhooked the shield from her back, swinging it onto her left arm and smashing it up into a Nord's face all in one fluid movement. He staggered back and her longsword flicked out to slice off his head. She turned and parried a strike from a Dunmer, then caught an Orc's mace blow on her shield. The elf swiftly dispatched the Dark Elf, the longer reach of her sword enabling her to knock aside his shortsword and stab him in the chest; she moved quickly, in time deflect the Orc's next swing before it could shatter her hip. He growled as the mace bounced off the Elven shield – leaving a large dent in the centre – and struck out at Elsynia again, this time aiming to crush her skull. The swordswoman dodged to the left, then darted forward to seize the opening. As the Orc's swing went wide, she slipped in under his guard and stabbed him in the vulnerable armpit, right through into his heart.

The mer whirled around, seeking a new enemy; only to that find the road around her was clear. Ah-Malz was standing a little way off, the last three corpses at his feet, casually cleaning his claymore with a rag. "Not a bad show for bandits," was his only comment as he returned the massive blade to its sheath on his back.

Elsynia nodded, lowering her longsword and relaxing a little, as the adrenaline rush of battle began to ebb. Then a loud whinny echoed down the road towards them. Both warriors' heads snapped up. An Imperial bandit had somehow managed to slip past them and was attempting to steal one of the horses; however Snowflake and Strider were equally disapproving of this idea, and he was dodging flailing hooves and snapping teeth as the mare and stallion resisted any attempts at being boarded.

The two Fighters Guild members broke into a sprint, running back up the road towards the scene. However, Elsynia could see Parwen was barely holding onto the saddle in her drunken state and she felt panic flare; panic that the Bosmer might fall from Snowflake's back and be trampled by accident.

A halo of red Destruction magicka glowed around her hand; she kept running as she loosed the small but powerful fireball. The swordswoman's aim was nowhere as good as Parwen's but the fireball still managed to strike its target, setting the fur armour ablaze instantly. The Imperial's shrieks of pain were cut off as the warriors finally reached him and Ah-Malz's claymore put an end to his suffering.

Elsynia managed to coax the horses back into some semblance of calm fairly quickly; both had been owned for several years at least and were accustomed to combat situations. She passed Strider's reins to Ah-Malz so she could check them for physical injuries. The chestnut snorted, sounding happier as his master stroked him reassuringly. "They're both fine," the mer said in relief as she lifted a hand glowing with blue Restoration magic away from Snowflake. "Just a few scratches."

She proceeded to heal several gashes the Warder had received during the fight and then a couple of minor wounds of her own. They had – on the whole – got off lightly from the fight.

After about ten minutes, they were ready to go again; Elsynia downed a potion to replenish her magicka stores and then they both swung into the saddle. The swordswoman adjusted the seating arrangement slightly so that Parwen – who, incredibly, appeared to have fallen _asleep_ – wouldn't slip out of the saddle, and then they were off, setting a fast pace to make up for lost time.

When night fell, it found them where the road wound along the edge of Lake Rumare. They camped a little way off the lake's shore, the distant mass of the Imperial City visible across the water as an enormous black shape against stars.

The next morning, Elsynia took vindictive delight in waking Parwen. The archer immediately recoiled from the bright, morning sun. "It feels like I'm being _stabbed_ in the _eyes_," she moaned, curling up into a ball. "And there's no need to shout like that!"

"I'm not shouting. And I happen to consider this divine retribution for what we had to put up with from you yesterday. Your hangover cannot be anywhere near as bad as that."

Normally, this kind of statement would have provoked a fierce argument but apparently, the Bosmer was feeling too sorry for herself even for that.

Elsynia loaded Parwen up onto Snowflake's saddle and then climbed up behind her; Ah-Malz was already mounted and ready to go, Strider tossing his head with the eagerness to be moving.

The archer, however, was not done with her complaining. Every bump in the road aggravated her blinding headache; every jolt made her stomach heave with nausea. And she made sure her companions knew it.

When they passed through Skingrad at noon, Ah-Malz called a halt and disappeared into the city in search of a hangover cure, in an attempt to prevent Elsynia from killing their friend out of sheer irritation. He came back holding a jar of some thick, sticky paste and handed it to Parwen. The Bosmer dug out a heaped spoonful and chewed it without a second thought, as soon as she heard the magic words 'hangover cure'. When she did so, the Argonian winked conspiratorially at the swordswoman.

As they galloped out of Skingrad, Elsynia discovered the reason with some relief; the Warder's medicine had been made of a substance akin to treacle and had effectively glued Parwen's jaw shut. The archer was very quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

They made camp that night near what was left of Kvatch; the sight of the burnt-out ruin of the city had a sobering effect upon the three. Even Parwen stopped scowling furiously at her comrades and making muffled angry noises through her fused teeth.

When they woke up in the morning, the Bosmer's jaw had finally unstuck. Surprisingly enough, she didn't launch instantly into a tirade of abuse when Elsynia enquired innocently as to how she was feeling. "I guessed I kind of deserved it," she muttered reluctantly. "Sorry. I just felt awful."

The swordswoman then remembered the reason for Parwen getting so drunk in the first place and refrained from further teasing, feeling a little guilty. They saddled up after a cold breakfast and continued on; Parwen regaining her some of her usual cheerful spirits as the morning wore on, though still remaining more subdued than normal.

It was late afternoon before Anvil came into view. The white walls of the city loomed in the distance, the castle visible beyond it, overlooking the harbor. Sunlight sparkled off the distant Abecean Sea; the water incredibly blue, reflecting the cloudless sky. A strong westerly breeze reached them, carrying the scent of salt on the wind.

Parwen stood up in the stirrups behind Elsynia and whooped with joy at the sight of their destination; the swordswoman yelped with surprise, overbalanced by the Bosmer's sudden movement. They both tumbled out of the saddle and crashed to ground with a tremendous clanging of armour; Snowflake turned to view them with a look of astonishment, while Ah-Malz roared with laughter, the rarely-provoked sound booming across the hills. Even Elsynia saw the funny side after a few moments, and soon she and Parwen had tears running down their cheeks as they cried with laughter, leaning against one another for support.

The humour cleared the air; all three warriors felt in better spirits as the two elves vaulted back into the saddle, and they urged the horses into a brisk gallop, suddenly eager to reach their destination as soon as possible.

However, it wasn't until well after dark that they arrived at Anvil's main gate; all of them tired by now from their journey, and looking forward to a proper bed. After stabling the horses, they went into the city and by unspoken agreement, sought out the local Fighters Guild building to sleep – they would look for the Dark Brotherhood's 'instructions' in the morning.

Pools of golden lantern light illuminated most of the streets and they found the Fighters Guild easily enough, the red banners providing instant identification. Parwen yawned sleepily as Ah-Malz banged on the door, rousing the porter to let them in. Elsynia leant against the wall, enjoying the warmth of the coastal night air and admiring the vast, glittering expanse of stars high above.

The grumbling porter eventually opened the door and all three headed gratefully inside, going straight to the sleeping quarters. They each found an unoccupied bed and stripped down to their underclothes, dropping their assorted armour and weaponry into the provided chests. Within minutes, the exhausted warriors were sound asleep.

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**A/N: ****Ta-da. ****My ****biggest ****chapter ****yet. ****Tell ****me ****what ****you ****think. ****;)**


	6. Through Fire and Flames

**A/N: *collapses* Thank God. I cannot tell you relieved I am to finish this chapter. It did not like me. At all. **

**Anyhow, please remember to review – and I am talking to you, silent readers. The number of reviews do not match up to the favs/alerts. ****It doesn't take long to leave one; even a couple of lines telling me what you like/dislike about the story is useful and encouraging to a writer. **

**Disclaimer: Oblivion isn't mine. (I'm entirely out of creativity for disclaimers.)**

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**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter Six: Through Fire and Flames**

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Morning came; beams of sunlight streaming in through the windows and filling the room with dazzling rays of golden light. One by one, the various warriors of the Anvil Fighters Guild awoke; stretching and yawning, calling out greetings to one another, and shooting curious glances at the three newcomers, who were still dead to the world.

It was long after the door banged shut behind the last one that Parwen finally stirred. Her eyes fluttered opened and she yawned widely. The archer wriggled her toes and stretched out experimentally to her full length; to her delight there were was no lingering pain at all. This was the first morning all week where she hadn't woken to pain of one kind or another. That line of thought, of course, made her thoughts go instantly back to Onyx and a pang of sorrow tugged at her heart. _Then again…_

The Bosmer sat up and swung her long, slender legs over the side of the bed, blinking back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. _It's ridiculous to be this cut up over a horse_, she chided herself. But she had loved the creature and her grief wouldn't be so easily banished.

Parwen took a deep breath and shook herself. _No more tears. You've cried plenty. And it's not like they'll bring Onyx back, either._ Straightening her spine, the elf pushed her sadness to the side for the moment and concentrated on the positives. Like the beauty of the morning, for instance. And it would be selfish of her not to share.

"Wake up, El!" caroled a voice in Elsynia's ear. The swordswoman opened her eyes and was treated to the sight of a pair of laughing chocolate-brown eyes about five centimetres away from her own. "Good morning."

The elf yelped and leapt sideways, falling out of the bed and crashing to the floor. Parwen dissolved into peals of laughter. Elsynia blinked up at her in astonishment, and then narrowed her eyes. With a playful growl, she launched herself across the room to tackle the other mer to the ground. They were busy engaged in a mock wrestling match when the door to the sleeping quarters creaked open and a tanned, muscular Redguard poked his head around the door. "Have any of you seen..."

He trailed off in surprise at the sight of two half-naked young elven women wrestling on the floor amid a mess of pillows and blankets; then a broad grin stretched across his face. "That looks fun; I don't suppose I can join in?"

Parwen finally succeeded in pining Elsynia to the ground with one knee and glanced up, sending a flirtatious smile in the man's direction. "Sorry," she purred, looking up at him through a cascade of loose, chestnut curls. "By invitation only."

Elsynia worked her arm free and knocked the archer's knee aside; with a startled 'oof!' she fell forward just as the swordswoman rolled aside. After a brief struggle, Elsynia managed to trap Parwen, pinioning her to the floor in much the same manner as the Bosmer had just done to her. "It's kind of personal," Elsynia added to the Redguard – who had been unashamedly ogling them – by way of explanation.

"Well, if you two do that every morning, I won't complain." With a wink and a leer, he left the room, apparently forgetting whatever he had come for in the first place.

"Honestly, Parwen, do you _have_ to flirt with anything that moves?" Elsynia was torn between amusement and exasperation as she released her friend.

"Not _anything_," pouted the archer. "I mean, he was young and good-looking. Did you see those gorgeous blue eyes? I wouldn't mind him at all…" She trailed off speculatively, looking at the door the Redguard had left through.

"You're awful."

Parwen grinned, unabashed. "I know."

It didn't take long to rouse Ah-Malz; within the hour they had washed, breakfasted and pulled on their armour. They left the Guild about mid-morning and set off through the streets of Anvil.

"So…where are we going again?" Parwen enquired, skipping backwards along the road. Her hair fluttered around her in the cool wind that had sprung up overnight. It brought some respite from the hot weather that Anvil was currently enjoying. Elsynia glanced up briefly at the deep blue sky and the blinding orb of the sun, wondering if the Oblivion Gates – or more specifically, the breaches between dimensions – were somehow responsible for the unseasonable weather patterns.

"The Count's Arms," Ah-Malz provided. "Should be close by."

It was; they found the inn only a little further down the street. However, when they circled around to the back of the building –

"Oh, you are _kidding_," breathed Parwen, wide-eyed. Elsynia and Ah-Malz shared a look of silent dismay. "Didn't the note say 'look in _the_ wooden barrel'? There's about _thirty_ barrels here!"

With much disgusted grumbling, the three warriors started to sift through the containers. Some were empty; some had various tools or foodstuffs stored within them.

Half an hour later saw Elsynia sitting cross-legged on a low wall, carefully searching a barrel of cherries. She had unhooked her shield from her back to use as a makeshift bowl; the wide, shallow, concave surface was heaped with the fruit she had removed from the barrel, in an attempt to reach the bottom. The elf sighed as the wooden base became visible. Apart from the cherries, there was nothing there.

Picking up the shield, Elsynia tipped the fruit back into the barrel and was about to return the Elven shield to its allocated place on her back, when she noticed something. Her eyes widened in shock and she brought the shield closer to her face, hoping that somehow she was mistaken.

Parwen was hip-deep in rolls of cloth when the sound of colourful swearing reached her. "El?" she enquired, lifting her head. Ah-Malz looked up from his examination of a barrel of pickaxes.

The swordswoman was gripping her shield tightly, looking torn between anger and worry. "Look at this."

Elsynia held it out for their inspection, running a hand through her hair in frustration. Her anger was entirely self-directed for missing such a thing – that the dent the shield had received in the skirmish with the bandits was far worse than it had appeared. At first glance, the damage was minor. However, upon close inspection, a fine webbing of cracks was visible; spreading out from the dent and running along the repaired seams like fault lines.

"I think," Ah-Malz rumbled, handing the shield back, "That you might need to consider getting a new shield even sooner than you thought."

The swordswoman could only agree. With sigh of disgust, she replaced it on her shoulders, and all three Guildsmen returned to their search after the momentary distraction.

It was another half-hour before Parwen gave a cry of triumph. "Found it!" The other two were by her side in an instant. Elsynia peered inside the indicated barrel. It was completely empty, apart from a folded sheet of parchment at the bottom; it seemed somehow insolently blatant.

The elf reached down and picked it up warily. It was of the same quality as the previous parchment, and as Elsynia unfolded it, she recognised the writing instantly as also belonging to the same person. There were only four words.

_**Fort Farragut. Come alone.**_

"'Come alone'?" repeated Parwen worriedly, reading over her shoulder. "Do you think this is a trap after all?"

"I'm almost certain that this entire offer is a trap of some kind, Parwen," murmured Elsynia, far more interested in the first part of the message. She passed the parchment to Ah-Malz and began fishing in her pack for her map. "But of _what_ kind I am uncertain. They certainly don't need to go to the trouble of luring me out to some abandoned fort to kill me. I think the 'come alone' part is merely to demonstrate that they are watching me."

"Ah…" the Bosmer thought for a moment. "They're pointing out they know you're travelling in a group? And that we're not invited?"

Elsynia chuckled at Parwen's affected outrage; then, finally finding her map, she spread it out across the top of a nearby crate. It had started out with only the basic details; now it was barely recognisable as the same map, being heavily annotated and marked with every point of interest the swordswoman had stumbled across over the past four years.

"Found it," the elf proclaimed, after a few minutes of scanning her map. "There. Very close to Cheydinhal." Her finger stabbed at a dot located directly above the city; when Parwen squinted, she could just about make about the label as 'Fort Farragut', written in Elsynia's cramped, spidery scrawl.

A scowl then spread across the swordswoman's features. "By Akatosh, do they take some unholy delight in sending me running back and forth across the whole of Cyrodiil? If they were going to send me to Cheydinhal, why direct me all the way to Anvil first? They're on complete opposite sides of the province!"

"Try not to get angry, Elsynia; as difficult as that is for you," Ah-Malz rasped. The mer frowned automatically but was unable to deny the accuracy of his statement. "They are probably trying to provoke you deliberately; do not rise to the bait."

Elsynia nodded, heeding her friend's words and doing her best to push her irritation away. There was silence for a minute, then Parwen asked, "So what now?"

"Now…" the swordswoman thought about it for a few seconds. "Now, I want to visit Morvayn's Peacemakers. I need a new shield."

"You realise that Varel probably won't have another Elven shield in stock? They aren't all that common," the archer pointed out.

"I know," Elsynia sighed. "But I'll take the next best thing he has on offer. I'd rather that than have my shield break just when I need it most. I'll look for a proper replacement later."

"What about after we get you a new shield?" asked Ah-Malz. "A new horse for Parwen, I presume?"

"Yes," the swordswoman confirmed, flicking an apprehensive glance at their comrade. The Bosmer blanched at the proposition but otherwise made no protest. "And then onto the Imperial City."

"The Imperial City?"Parwen tilted her head enquiringly.

"I need to visit Tirion before I go gallivanting off to Fort Farragut," Elsynia elaborated. "I haven't had the time lately, for obvious reasons – now that there's a momentary lull, I need to talk to him about several things."

The archer looked delighted at the prospect of going to see the High Elf mage. "That sounds wonderful! We haven't seen him in ages."

"That's because we were supposed to be meeting up with him for our monthly get-together on the night of my birthday, remember? Only we took an unexpected detour to the cells instead," Elsynia said wryly, recalling that life-changing event. "It's been a month and a half since then; he probably thinks we've forgotten about him."

"Not likely," Parwen snorted. "Practically the whole province knows what you did at Kvatch. I'll think he'll forgive you for being too busy to visit."

"I suppose that's reason enough," the swordswoman smiled. A flicker of red magicka darted across her fingers and flames leapt from her palm, devouring the piece of parchment and erasing the any evidence of the Dark Brotherhood's message. She uncurled her fingers and a fine, black ash trickled to the ground. "Let's go."

They visited Morvayn's Peacemakers first and found a mithril shield which met with Elsynia's approval, though it needed a few adjustments. Varel sent them away, promising it would be ready in two hours time. The three warriors exited back out onto the street.

"Is there anything else you want to do in Anvil, while we're waiting?" asked Elsynia, resigned to the delay.

"Swimming!" Parwen's reply was instant and enthusiastic.

"…I should have seen that coming."

Ah-Malz chuckled.

xxx

Elsynia sighed contentedly and allowed her heavy eyelids to fall shut. The dry heat of the sun was simply delicious after so much time recently spent in the wet and the cold. She lay in the long grass near the Anvil lighthouse, burrowed into the warm earth. If she'd cared to sit up and open her eyes, she would have seen the breathtakingly beautiful sight of the Gold Coast; the distant, golden, grassy hills rolling down to meet the Abecean Sea and the sparkling waves lapping at the sun-kissed shore. The lighthouse sat by itself on a spit of land curving out from Anvil's harbor and across the water the docks shimmered and warped in the heat haze. Faint cries from the sailors and the seagulls drifted over on the wind.

But the elf was happy to simply lie and enjoy the intense heat soaking into her skin, and appreciate the sheer luxury of having nothing pressing that needed to be done – at least for the next hour or so.

Behind her, Elsynia heard metal scrape on stone as Ah-Malz shifted his weight. He was leaning against the wall of the lighthouse, scanning the area for danger. The Argonian was watchful and alert, allowing the other two warriors to relax and let down their guard for a while.

Parwen was swimming in the water below, disappearing underneath the surface for long periods of time. She loved swimming and had borrowed the _Jewel of the Rumare_; a ring enchanted with water-breathing, which had been a birthday present for Elsynia from her father several years ago.

The swordswoman's eyes snapped open as she heard the silvery hiss of Ah-Malz's sword leaving its scabbard. "Stop where you are," she heard him rasp.

Elsynia scrambled awkwardly to her feet, slowed a little by the bulk of her armour and turned to face the danger. The Warder was standing between her and a robed figure, his claymore poised to strike. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought it was another member of the Dark Brotherhood; however, as the elf looked closer, she saw that the robe was more like that of a mage, albeit fairly tattered and in poor condition.

"M'aiq means no harm." The voice identified its owner instantly as a male Khajiit, even before he reached up and tugged down his hood, revealing his face. "M'aiq merely wonders if the good people have any calipers that they would be willing to share?"

Elsynia could only stare in bewilderment; Ah-Malz just looked at him, equally thrown by the bizarre request.

"Ah, no," the Warder managed. "You could try the docks, though," he added doubtfully.

The Khajiit beamed, displaying an alarming array of sharp teeth. "Thank you for helping M'aiq! M'aiq will not forget the Argonian's kindness!" With that, the strange cat vanished down the hillside; his speed left the two warriors gaping with disbelief.

"Who was _that_?" Parwen had come up the hill behind them, soaking wet and clad only in her underwear, just in time to see the odd Khajiit disappear.

"No idea," Elsynia murmured. She switched her attention to what the Bosmer was doing. "Are you finally bored of swimming then?"

"Never," the archer declared, grinning as she toweled her hair dry. "But I think the two hours are nearly up."

"I think you're right." Ah-Malz stretched and sheathed his sword. "I'll collect the shield while you dry off and get dressed; that usually takes a while." Parwen shot him an affronted look.

"I'll make sure she doesn't get attacked while she's getting dressed," Elsynia volunteered. Her growing paranoia about Mythic Dawn shrieked a warning at the mere thought of leaving her friend vulnerable.

The Warder nodded. "We'll meet at the stables then." He strode off and the swordswoman waited patiently as Parwen began pulling on the layer of clothes that went under her chainmail.

Elsynia frowned slightly, noticing that the archer had gone quiet, apparently preoccupied with something. It wasn't until she had finished dressing and was shrugging her quiver into place that Parwen spoke. "I'm sorry."

The swordswoman blinked, startled. "What for?"

"I was dead weight on the journey here. I put you both in more danger because of it." The Bosmer was unexpectedly serious; her beautiful face devoid of the usual laughter that constantly hovered around her mouth and eyes. "You're not still annoyed, are you?"

Elsynia just stared in surprise. In truth, she had already forgotten her irritation en route. Her anger was quick to flare, true, but at the same time, it faded just as swiftly. Unless it had constant fuel, her anger was usually short-lived. Over the years, the elf had only ever managed to sustain one serious grudge. "Of course not. I think you're entitled get upset – and drunk – when someone you love dies."

Parwen smiled, relief lighting up her face. Her eyes were bright with tears. "Thank you. I –" her voice cracked. "Miss her. A lot." A tear trickled down one cheek; the Bosmer looked horrified as she frantically scrubbed it away. "Oh, sweet Mara, I promised myself I wouldn't cry anymore."

Elsynia shook her head. "Parwen, _you_ were the one who told me it was better to let it out when it was needed, rather than bottle it up. Take your own advice."

The swordswoman suddenly found her arms full of crying Bosmer, doing just that. Her protective instinct flared and her arms went around her friend, offering as much comfort as she could through the simple physical contact. Parwen sobbed unrestrainedly into her shoulder, her slender body shaking while Elsynia just held her, murmuring soothing nonsense.

It was a strange, unreal situation to the swordswoman; in the past, it had always been Parwen holding _her_, on the few occasions she had had reason to cry with such abandon. The archer was a bright, sunny person rarely troubled by anything; it felt entirely wrong to see her so grieved. It didn't help that Parwen's tears triggered the same feeling of protectiveness that Nerissa's did; Elsynia hated that, in reality, she was helpless to protect her friend from the pain. The mer could comfort with her presence, but unlike the physical wounds that she could heal without a second thought, the emotional hurt was not so easily soothed.

Parwen's sobs died away gradually and eventually her body ceased to shake. She sniffed quietly for a few more seconds, and then Elsynia let her arms drop away as the archer sat up."Better?"

The Bosmer gave her a watery smile, drying her face on her towel. "Yes, thank you. Much…lighter. I should listen to myself more often."

"You should," the swordswoman agreed with a gentle smile, still wishing she could do more to help, that she could entirely relieve her friend of the emotional pain. _But then I suppose pain and experience shape us; make us who we are. I would be an entirely different person than I am today, if I hadn't lost him…_

Elsynia shook herself, aware that her thoughts were drifting away from the current situation, into unwelcome territory. She helped Parwen to her feet.

"Should we go?" The archer blinked away the last of the wetness that still clung to her eyelashes. "Ah-Malz will be thinking that we're lost or something."

"If you're ready," Elsynia agreed.

Parwen flashed a watery but determined smile. "Yep. Let's get moving."

They set off around the side of the lighthouse, the swordswoman trying her best to lift the fog of sadness from around the older elf with jokes and smiles. It began to work and Parwen was just starting to return some of the light teasing, when a door in the lighthouse wall suddenly flew open, nearly hitting the archer.

"Hey, watch where you're –" Parwen suddenly choked and began coughing. "What is _that_?"

Elsynia was about to ask what she meant, when the reason suddenly became very apparent.

A foul, putrid stench rolled out from the open door – a smell so thick and cloying that it was almost a physical force. The mer tried to breathe shallowly, but it still made her normally iron-clad stomach lurch uneasily.

Then a hooded, black-cloaked figure emerged from the doorway in the wake of the stench. They halted at the sight of the two elves. The person's face was completely hidden in the shadows of the hood but Elsynia could feel their eyes on her; examining. All the hairs rose on the back of her neck and ice skittered down her spine. Every sense she had screamed a warning. _Danger!_

Tensing, the elf shifted into a combat stance, one hand sliding to the hilt of her longsword, ready to draw in an instant. Beside her, she felt Parwen do the same.

For several long, endless seconds, the three remained motionless, a frozen tableau. Then, without warning, the cloaked figure broke the stand-off by turning swiftly and re-entering the lighthouse. The door banged shut behind them.

Elsynia waited for a few more heartbeats, wary of a trick. She then relaxed very slightly, loosening her grip on her blade and straightening up, adrenaline still singing in her veins. "What the hell was that?"

Parwen blew out a sigh of relief beside her. "I don't know but it was _very_ strange. And rather frightening. Let's leave in case they change their mind and come back."

"You don't have to ask me twice," the swordswoman murmured, glancing at the closed door. She was more unnerved than she wanted to admit. Something about that person had been extremely unsettling; both warriors were spooked by the disturbing aura that had permeated the air. "Anvil is full of oddballs today."

xxx

Elsynia shrugged her new shield into place on her back, getting a feel for it as Parwen moved amongst the horses, carefully considering each one. "Thanks for collecting it," she whispered to Ah-Malz, both of them watching Parwen inspecting the hooves of a mare, before shaking her head and moving on to the next one.

"Not a problem," he replied distractedly, hoping as Elsynia did that the archer found a horse that was to her liking. There shouldn't be a problem - the Anvil Whites had a reputation for quality - but the Bosmer could be very picky sometimes.

Parwen halted, locking gazes with a stallion. The Anvil White tossed his head, meeting her stare challengingly. She flicked a swift, assessing glance over him and then returned her eyes to his. "This one," she called, loudly enough for her friends to hear.

The other two warriors made their way over to her from where they had been leaning against the fence and stood beside the Bosmer, admiring her selection.

"He's a strong, spirited creature, by the looks of it," Ah-Malz commented.

"I know," Parwen replied softly, her gaze never leaving the stallion. She stepped closer to the horse and faced him squarely. "You will never be Onyx," the archer told him, her tone stern. "I'm not looking for a replacement. I just happen to be in need of transport. Are we clear?" The stallion snorted and pawed at the ground. "Good."

Parwen stepped back and caught her comrades' bemused faces. "It's important to clarify these things early on," she said, by way of explanation. The other two warriors exchanged amused looks.

As the Bosmer spoke to Clesa, the owner of the Horse Whisperer Stables, Elsynia collared a stable hand and gave him Onyx's old tack to put on the currently unnamed stallion. She returned to find Parwen sealing the deal and handing over a considerable amount of gold for the privilege of owning an Anvil White.

"You won't regret it," Clesa told the archer with a broad smile. "My horses are all of excellent stock."

Elsynia couldn't be sure but she thought she heard Parwen mutter mutinously, "I'll be the judge of that."

All three Guildsmen exited the building back out into the paddock, to find that while they had been absent, the world had been washed in red. Gone was the sunlight and blue sky. Instead the heavens were a churning sea of turbulent red-black clouds, shot through with veins of crimson. Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning streaked through the cloud layers, turning their bruised surfaces brilliant white for an instant. The wind was hot now and carried the scents of smoke and fire. Distant screams and cries of alarm drifted from inside the walls of Anvil as the city's population dissolved into panic. Warning bells started to toll, ringing out the alarm with deep, brazen tones and summoning the guard to defend their city.

Parwen looked at her companions, both washed in the ominous red light. Elsynia had her hand on the hilt of her longsword and was looking up the hillside, where a column of smoke and billowing clouds of flame signaled the presence of what could only be an Oblivion Gate. Ah-Malz wore a grim but resolved expression.

The archer sighed and handed the stallion's reins back to the trembling stable hand. "Could you hold onto him for a bit? I get the feeling that I'll be staying a little while longer."

xxx

Obsidian claws, tipped with shockingly bright scarlet, jutted from the ground and curved around the Gate. The black rock framed the shimmering, rippling sheet of otherworldly orange-golden flame. The ground around the Gate was scorched and blackened, the rock cracked from the intense heat and the golden prairie grass burnt away into ash. Jets of fire occasionally burst forth from the surface of the Gate, each accompanied by another outpouring of Daedra. The sensation of powerful magicka crackled in the air, a tingling shiver that ran over the skin like ghostly electricity.

There weren't many things that shook Ah-Malz but he could now safely add Oblivion Gates to the list. And they hadn't been inside the damn thing yet.

They were currently crouched behind in a large outcrop of rock to avoid detection, about two hundred feet away from the rear of the Gate. A stretch of bare ground had to be crossed to reach the portal, during which they would completely visible to the Daedra.

Ah-Malz glanced at his companions. Elsynia was scanning the scene with a keen, sharp gaze. He could almost see her cycling through various strategies in her head, deciding on the best one for the current situation. They had all slipped easily into the battle-mindset; even Parwen was quiet and alert. The Bosmer might have a bubbly, playful nature, but when in a combat situation, she could be as serious as both of her fellow warriors.

"Ah-Malz." He looked at Elsynia instantly, meeting her gaze. The elf's green eyes were hard as flint. "They won't be expecting any resistance from Anvil yet; it'll take the Guard a while to assemble a counter-attack. We should be able to slip past before they can set up any defences around the Gate." She glanced away, at the walls of the city in the distance. Her expression became haunted. "Let's stop this invasion quickly, before it can properly begin. I never want to have to witness another Kvatch again as long as I live."

The Argonian nodded, shifting his weight from one leg to another in an attempt to relieve the cramped muscles. "I'm with you."

"As am I," Parwen added, tightening her grip on her bow.

A smile flashed briefly across Elsynia's face, before she became serious again. "Then let's go." She placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and with a pulse of green Illusion magicka, the three warriors vanished from sight.

"Stay close so we don't lose each other," the swordswoman instructed them in an undertone, her voice issuing from apparently nowhere. Only a ripple in the air betrayed her presence. "I know my Chameleon spell isn't the best but the heat distortion from the fire ought to hide us sufficiently."

Setting off at a fast pace across the bare stretch of ground, the three Guildsmen sprinted directly for the Gate. The clank of armour and the rhythmic thud of booted feet hitting the earth might have betrayed them, if not for the fact the noise they made was completely drowned out by the roar of the fire and the screeches of the Daedra.

As they drew closer to the Gate, the heat became intense. The buzzing, prickling sensation of powerful magicka grew stronger, a high-pitched humming in the air that set Ah-Malz's teeth on edge. They reached the edge of the Gate and the Argonian had to crane his neck to look up at the jagged pillars of obsidian rock that framed the portal. The stone was inscribed with glowing red Daedric glyphs, vivid against the black.

He felt a tap on his breastplate and saw a sharp ripple in the air; either Parwen or Elsynia was beckoning him. The Warder followed his comrade and they rounded the edge of the Gate. His breath caught in disbelief.

The ground in front of them was swarming with Daedra. Towering, rocky Storm Atronachs shambled past, flickering with white lightning and shaking the earth with their ponderous tread. Spider Daedra darted nimbly around the vast creatures, gleaming black carapaces and deadly pincers reflecting the firelight. The smaller Clannfear and Scamps flitted between them, lizard-like and fierce. Ice Atronachs dotted the field, shimmering crystalline bodies glowing a faint blue-white and surrounded by clouds of drifting vapour. Daedroths stalked past, huge reptilian giants bristling with ivory spikes, massive claws and maws full of serrated teeth. Flame Atronachs weaved amongst the bigger Daedra; lithe female forms made of obsidian and magma, flickering with a constant halo of fire.

"By the Nine," Ah-Malz heard Parwen breathe beside him. The Argonian shared her dismay. He had never seen so many Daedra before in his life. Some of the rarer varieties he had only ever seen in paintings.

"Get ready," murmured Elsynia's voice from his left. The Warder felt her hand lightly rest on his gauntlet in warning. As she did so, Ah-Malz felt another pulse of magicka rush over him. He knew the swordswoman had cast a detect life spell on him when his vision changed subtly and a cloud of glittering purplish light coalesced around each Daedra, helping him pick them out of the darkness.

They were still crouched in the shadow of the Gate, concealed at the base of the right-hand pillar. The surface of the portal began to warp, the fire writhing and contorting, erupting outwards in gouts of deadly flame. Elsynia's hand tightened on Ah-Malz's forearm. "Any moment now," she murmured.

The elf had barely finished speaking, when a figure emerged from the shimmering Gate. Tall, grey-skinned, and imposing in silvery black-red armour – a Dremora. He was not alone. As he moved forward, more stepped through the portal after him. The sound of clanking armour and weaponry filled the air. Ah-Malz scarcely dared to breathe as the column of Dremora passed by, not twenty paces away from where the invisible Guildsmen stood.

When the last one had exited the Gate, Elsynia hissed, "Now!"

Rising from his crouch, the Warder dashed for the fiery portal. The flames grew hotter as he approached, singeing the scales on his face. Ah-Malz restrained the instinctive urge to retreat and instead plunged straight into the rippling surface of the Gate.

For an endless moment, he was drowning in fire. Heat seared his lungs and choked him. Then he stumbled forward, free, released from the awful embrace of the flames. Coughing, the Argonian raised his head and was confronted with a hellish scene.

He stood at the foot of a steep, craggy hill of barren rock, dotted with broken pillars and boulders. A precipitous path wound around the hill up to the summit, which was crowned by an obsidian tower. Menace clung to the structure. It loomed above the landscape, back-lit by the same threatening red-black sky that currently hovered over Anvil. Despite this, none of the reddish light seemed to touch the tower. Its jagged spires, like twisted black thorns, jutted out from each side of the edifice and reached into the sky. They looked strangely organic in comparison to the main body of the structure, but no less dangerous. However, undoubtedly, the eeriest thing about Oblivion was the noise; or rather, the lack of it. Thunder boomed and lightning crackled through the clouds overhead, but apart from those distant sounds, the Deadlands were _quiet. _The hill which the dark tower rested upon was isolated, surrounded by a sea of molten lava – but unlike a true ocean, there was no crashing of waves, no distant roar of surf to be heard. Instead, there was the occasional soft pop and slow sizzling hiss. The bloodgrass rustled every so often, stirred by a hot, dry wind which was tainted with sulphur and the smell of smoke; but otherwise, a deathly quiet lay over the land like a burial shroud.

A bright flare from the Gate caught Ah-Malz's attention; then there was pair of quiet thuds and he knew his companions had arrived. Elsynia's voice came from his left. "This way."

The Warder followed the telltale ripple in the air into the shadow of a large boulder, just off to the side of the path. He felt magicka prickle his skin and then suddenly Parwen and Elsynia rematerialized in front of him, as the Chameleon enchantment was lifted. The swordswoman gave a heartfelt groan of relief and sagged slightly against the boulder. "Thank the Nine. It's incredibly taxing to hold an enchantment steady for so long _and _split my concentration like that."

Parwen patted the other elf absently on the shoulder as she peeked out of their hiding place. "It looks like the path goes up the hill, towards that tower. That's what we're heading for, right?"

"Yes – _if_ it's the same setup as the previous Gate. Which I hope it is, because the landscape at least has changed from last time; there wasn't a huge hill like this, it was just a sort of rocky island crisscrossed with bridges. The Gate at Kvatch must have opened into a different part of Oblivion." Elsynia grimaced. "Is there anything coming?"

The archer hummed a negative. "Not that I can see."

Elsynia pushed off the boulder and straightened up. "We should go now then. That party of Dremora only just went through the Gate but I'm betting that another group will be along fairly soon."

Ah-Malz and Parwen nodded in agreement. The three warriors cautiously picked their way out from their hiding place, stepped back onto the path and started climbing the hill.

It was unexpectedly hard-going. The slope was at a steep angle and the earth was dry and crumbly, causing them to slip occasionally as their feet sank into the ground. The intense, suffocating heat of Oblivion combined with the exercise soon ensured they were all coated in a light, sticky film of sweat.

"I can't believe I'm actually using my sword for balance, rather fighting," muttered Parwen, digging her glass shortsword into the loose earth for extra purchase as they scrambled up a particularly steep part of the hill.

"Just be grateful that we're _not_ fighting," Elsynia replied, grabbing for the next handhold. "This climb is hard enough, without grappling with a couple of Daedra – watch out for that Harrada."

Parwen barely dodged the dangerous plant in time. The red fronds snapped through the air where her head had been seconds before and the archer swore at them in annoyance. "Even the plants here are hostile."

Elsynia had no breath to spare for laughter but she couldn't help grinning at her fellow warrior. "At least you have me here to warn you. At Kvatch, I didn't even know they were dangerous."

"Pah," Parwen grumbled. "I'd rather have something I can shoot any day."

Elsynia's smile fell away. "Well, even if _this_ area seems to be deserted, there's sure to be plenty of Daedra to be fought later on. They'll be inside the Sigil Keep at the very least–"

The swordswoman was cut off mid-sentence, forced to duck to avoid a fireball that shot past overhead. "Or alternatively…" she muttered, looking further ahead up the trail.

A lone Scamp darted back and forth, chittering anxiously to itself. It lobbed another fireball at them and then turned to flee.

"Parwen!" called Elsynia urgently.

Parwen hopped onto a nearby rock, a marginally steadier perch, and swiftly loosed an arrow. It struck the Scamp between the shoulder blades before it had gone more than ten yards or so, and the creature crumpled to the ground.

Elsynia blew out a gusty sigh of relief. "Nice shot."

"It was only one Scamp," the archer remarked, stepping off the rock again. "Why were you so bothered?"

"If we haven't been detected yet, I'd rather we kept our presence here a secret as long as possible," the other elf answered. "The Scamp might have alerted someone."

It was another ten minutes before the ground finally leveled out. The path had wound steeply up and around the hill, and had deposited them squarely in front of a door that led straight _into_ the hillside. It was engraved with another Daedric glyph that glowed with an ominous red-orange light.

"Looks like this is the only way forward then," murmured Elsynia, tilting her head back to look up. The cliff-like wall of rock rose high above them; sheer, smooth and devoid of handholds. "No climbing _that_."

Ah-Malz reached out and the door slid open eerily at his touch. The trio padded through it, slow and wary as their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. They were in what appeared to be a tunnel. The ground sloped away under their feet and as they descended, the earth flattened out and the three warriors emerged into a cave.

Parwen strained her eyes. The air was murky; the only light was a muted red glow of indiscernible source. It was barely enough to reveal the outlines of the cave. The air was also even hotter than it was above ground, if that was at all possible, and Parwen's skin prickled with sweat in response to the uncomfortable temperature.

She tapped Elsynia's shoulder. "Night-Eye potions, do you think?"

The other elf nodded, reaching for her potion belt. Parwen downed one of her own and instantly felt better as the room was stripped of its shadows, suddenly sharp with the blue-black clarity of Night-Eye. Ah-Malz did the same and they moved forward, passing out of the room-like cave and into another tunnel.

However, it was only after they had passed through dozens of – oddly empty – interconnecting tunnels and caves, that a terrible suspicion crept up on Parwen. "Elsynia," she murmured.

The swordswoman glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"I think we're in a labyrinth."

There was a horrible silence for a moment. Elsynia looked as if she were experiencing the same awful realization that had just descended on the archer. "Oh, Akatosh," she muttered in dismay. "You might be right."

"Didn't you have to go through a place like this last time?" rumbled Ah-Malz.

Elsynia shook her head with a grimace. "Like I said, this part of Oblivion is different from the place that the Kvatch Gate led to. There were no underground tunnels there at all."

A faint noise echoed along the passageways and both elves' heads snapped up. They listened for a few moments and then exchanged loaded glances.

"Did you hear that?"

"Probably a Daedra."

"Then there might be a way out down there."

Ah-Malz, silently trusting their superior sense of hearing, fell into step behind them as they headed stealthily down one of the four tunnels branching off from the cave. All three Fighters' Guild members rounded a bend in the passageway, which widened out into the largest cave they had seen yet.

_Well, I think we found the next group of reinforcements for the attack on Anvil._ It was all Elsynia was able to think as she stared at the cave full of Daedra. Twenty Dremora – the last of which was just stepping through another glyph-marked door to join his companions – were stiff competition for only three warriors to face, especially when they were accompanied by two Ice Atronachs, a Daedroth and a gaggle of Scamps.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised by the sudden appearance of the other, but one of the Scamps recovered first – or perhaps didn't have enough brains to be surprised in the first place – and simply charged at the trio.

Elsynia's sword flashed out, and the Scamp's head was rolling across the floor before her brain had even registered the entirely instinctive move that her body had performed. It seemed to break the Daedra out of their stupor and with a roar, they charged across the cave.

"Move!" Parwen called urgently. Her two comrades instantly flattened themselves to either side of the tunnel. Two arrows streaked across the room in quick succession. One caromed off a hastily raised shield but the other took a Dremora mage in the eye, his spell fizzling out as he died. The archer managed to drop another Dremora before the Daedra were on them.

Ah-Malz and Elsynia quickly closed ranks in front of Parwen, standing shoulder-to-shoulder and blocking the passageway. There barely enough room for them both to maneuver but the Daedra could only come at them in twos and threes. Parwen backed away up the tunnel, nocking another arrow and waiting for the opportunity for a shot to present itself.

Elsynia's new shield was instantly put to the test. It blocked the first swing of a Daedric longsword, the blade glancing off the rim. She brought her own longsword sweeping up and met the Dremora warrior's next attack. The elf had almost forgotten their sheer strength; she remembered with clarity now the difficulty she had faced at Kvatch, as the force behind the warrior's blow shoved her back a step. Gritted her teeth, the swordswoman went on the offensive and forced him back with a quick flurry of slashes. She feinted with a strike at his torso and as the Dremora moved to counter, thrust her mithril shield up into his throat. The warrior fell with a gurgle, the arteries in his neck severed by the sharpened edge of the shield.

Beside her, Ah-Malz stepped over the Dremora he had just slain, claymore stained scarlet, and suddenly the entire passageway was filled with enormous looming form of a Daedroth. A cluster of Scamps darted about eagerly behind it, fireballs blooming at their fingertips.

Then a shimmering, translucent blue wall sprung up across the tunnel and the barrage of fire spells splashed harmlessly across its surface, dissipating into nothing. Ah-Malz glanced at Elsynia who grinned savagely, Alteration magicka crackling around her as the Scamps howled their disappointment. Then the Daedroth was upon them and the two warriors were suddenly fully occupied.

The passageway was too narrow for Ah-Malz use his claymore effectively and to his frustration, the strike he delivered to the Daedra's scaly hide was much weaker than normal. It roared with pain, blood seeping from the slash across its flank, and lashed out with a clawed hand. Ah-Malz was unable to dodge in the confined space and the powerful blow slammed into his breastplate, crushing his armour in and making him stumble back several paces.

Elsynia darted forward to take advantage of its distraction and threw her full weight behind her longsword, driving the blade through the tough scales on the side of the Daedroth's neck. Blood sprayed across her face as it gave a choked gurgle and lurched around to face her, still determined to kill the swordswoman despite the obviously fatal wound it had just sustained. An arrow embedded itself in the Daedra's left eye and a roaring scream filled the tunnel; a bellow of pain and rage. Elsynia used the opportunity to hew into its neck again and the Daedroth finally succumbed, collapsing to the floor which was now slick with its blood.

With their way now unblocked, the Scamps wasted no time in scrambling over the body of their fallen ally and charging at the warriors. The swordswoman's blade swung out, passing through their skin with what seemed like almost ridiculous ease after the toughness of the Daedroth's hide. Two Scamps folded up and sank to the floor, both nearly sliced in half by her strike. Ah-Malz moved forward to engage with the next pair, while another struck at Elsynia, its small claws screeching across her armour. It was too close to bring her Elven longsword to bear, so the mer whisked one of her ebony daggers from its sheath with her shield hand and stabbed the Scamp in the throat. It dropped to the ground just as Ah-Malz impaled the last one on his sword. The bodies of the dead creatures now littered the ground, their blood pooling on the rock.

Elsynia glanced at Ah-Malz. The Daedroth's strike had been an extremely unlucky one, crushing two parts of his cuirass together and constricting his movement. The Argonian's breathing was also labored; presumably, the damaged metal had burrowed into his skin and was putting pressure on his chest.

The sound of many booted footsteps echoed down the tunnel towards them. Elsynia did a swift count in her head and had to force down a sense of rising panic. It had been a long time since they had been so badly outnumbered by such strong, skilled enemies – there were at least sixteen Dremora left and two Ice Atronachs. Ah-Malz had a wound that would severely hinder his fighting ability and Parwen, while good with her shortsword, was definitely better suited to long range fighting. And Elsynia, no matter how much skill she had with her blades, was not going to be able to fight sixteen warrior Dremora at once.

_Time for the second option then._

"Move back to where Parwen is!" she called to Ah-Malz as she raced past him. The swordswoman gathered her magicka to her as she ran, draining all of her reserves. It was going to take everything she had.

Elsynia stopped just short of the Daedroth's carcass. The Dremora were packed into rocky passageway, two by two, and marching towards her. The first pair was only ten feet away when one of them spotted her and raised his mace with an eager snarl, rasping something in his own tongue. He barely had time to take another step before a bolt of pure lightning lanced out. His body flew back, crashing into the other Dremora crammed into the tunnel.

The swordswoman held the rest of her magicka steady, shaping it into a final deadly spell – and then released it. Lightning exploded in the enclosed space, white-hot, powerful and unstoppable; it tore through the Dremora ranks like a gale through autumn leaves. For a moment, the entire world was made of light and heat and noise, as every shred of her magicka roared through the passageway in a devastating display of raw, elemental power.

Elsynia blinked away the massive blotches that the light had seared into her vision and the image of the tunnel slowly reappeared as her eyes recovered. Not a single Daedra had survived. The charred corpses of the Dremora – covered in heat-warped armour – were smoking gently and the Atronachs had been blasted to pieces, reduced to misshapen chunks of ice scattered around the passageway.

The elf surveyed her handiwork for a moment longer, then turned and trudged back to her fellow warriors. Parwen was in the process of unbuckling Ah-Malz's cuirass and the Argonian was hissing with displeasure as the damaged armour tore his flesh with every movement.

"I don't think we're going to get this off without hurting you more," Parwen muttered apologetically to her comrade.

"Just do it," the Warder rumbled, his voice tight with pain.

Elsynia stepped forward and together the two mer eased the cuirass off. There was an awful, wet tearing sound and the damaged metal came away from Ah-Malz's chest accompanied by ragged chunks of flesh. Blood flowed freely, thin streams of the liquid running down the Argonian's body and soaking his shirt and trousers. Raw flesh glistened in the dim light, torn muscle exposed to the open air.

The swordswoman quickly fished a Welkynd Stone from her pack and focused on the power held within the vessel. There was a moment of resistance, then she broke the barrier and the stone's power burst forth. It swept through the mer in a swirling rush and she suddenly felt energized, her reserves brimming with magicka once more. The stone, its power exhausted, crumbled away to dust.

Elsynia hastily raised her hands, already shining with blue-white Restoration magic, and gingerly peeled the remains of Ah-Malz's shirt away from the wound. She sent the healing magicka streaming into his chest, knitting torn flesh and muscle. A fresh layer of scales grew, flowing across the tender new skin. The elf wiped away the thin sheen of blood still clinging to the wound area and then stepped back to view her work with a critical eye.

"Thanks." The Warder nodded at her gratefully. It was impossible to tell there had even been an injury.

Elsynia smiled. "No problem."

Ah-Malz stooped and picked up his discarded cuirass, scrutinizing the damage closely. The Daedroth's blow had caved in the front of the armour, crushing two of the plates together. "I need to find something to hammer it out with, enough so that I can wear it without the damaged metal digging into my chest."

"Way ahead of you," Parwen called. The other two warriors turned to see the mer, who had disappeared during the healing process, come trotting back down the tunnel. She was carrying, with difficulty, a Daedric mace. The Bosmer dropped it next to them with a triumphant grin. "One impromptu repair hammer, at your service."

Ah-Malz picked it up. He examined it and gave a nod of satisfaction, deeming it suitable for the job. He began hammering at his cuirass and the steel sang with the strength of the blows that the Argonian rained down upon it. He stopped and inspected it. The metal was lumpy and uneven, but wearable. "It'll do," the Warder muttered.

Parwen grinned. "I can't wait to see the face of the blacksmith that you present that shoddy repair job to. I don't know whether they'll laugh, cry or take your head off."

Ah-Malz merely snorted and began buckling his armour back on. Elsynia smirked. "Let's worry about the Daedra now and angry blacksmiths later."

It took the three Guildsmen another hour to finally emerge from the cave system, into the marginally cooler air of Oblivion's surface. The Sigil Keep loomed menacingly before them, a rugged pillar of onyx rock stretching into the sky. Smaller towers flanked it, connected to the main one by bridges high above the ground.

"Dagon has a macabre taste in decoration," muttered Parwen, looking at the rotting bodies impaled around the entrance to the Keep. They looked especially gruesome in the harsh landscape of Oblivion.

"That, at least, hasn't changed from last time," Elsynia said quietly, tightening her grip on her longsword. Previous visitors to the Deadlands hadn't been as lucky as she.

They covered the short distance to the Sigil Keep quickly, mowing down a few unsuspecting Daedra in their path. Elsynia reached out and pushed open the massive doors. They swung inwards at her touch and admitted the three warriors into a dark circular room. Powerful magicka hummed at the centre, a beam of fiery energy that rose high above them, straight up through the centre of the tower. The swordswoman knew from experience that it would stretch all the way to the top.

Across the room, a pair of Dremora and a Fire Atronach noticed their presence and instantly moved to confront them. "Brace yourselves," murmured Elsynia to her companions. "It's only going to get harder from here on out."

Her words would prove true over the next few hours. By the time they arrived at the doors of the Sigillum Sanguis, almost at the top of the tower, all three warriors were on the brink of exhaustion. Parwen's lightweight chainmail was in tatters; the archer had been forced into close quarters fighting far more often than she was comfortable with and had paid the price. Elsynia and Ah-Malz's heavier armour hadn't escaped a beating either; both suits were now extremely battered and dented. All of their swords had been chipped and blunted by the tough skin, scales, bones and armour of the Daedra.

Elsynia reached into her pack and pulled out the last Welkynd Stone, her movements slowed by fatigue. She drew the magicka from the Stone and it streamed into her body, rushing into her empty reserves. The stone disintegrated into a fine green powder and slipped through the elf's fingers.

Concentrating, Elsynia soothed away the worst of her exhaustion and her most recent injuries with healing magicka. Then she moved swiftly to do the same for her comrades. They both straightened up, visibly rejuvenated. "Just one last push, then?" Parwen questioned, looking at the doors to the Sigillum Sanguis**.**

"Yes, thank Akatosh." The swordswoman led the way forward and inserted the key, which had been appropriated from the corpse of a Dremora guard.

They stepped forward into a gently sloping corridor that curved up and around to the left. A strange, grey floor squashed under their feet. Parwen did her best not to think about what it was made of. They rounded the corner and halted at a gap in the wall.

"This is the final chamber so there's bound to be heavy resistance – but we just have to get up two staircases and the Sigil Stone should be there," the swordswoman murmured.

The other two nodded. Ah-Malz rearranged his grip on his claymore. Parwen stretched an arrow out on her bowstring. Elsynia nodded at them, took a deep breath, and walked through the archway.

It was virtually identical in appearance to the previous Sigillum Sanguis she had visited. A red, fleshy substance formed the slightly domed floor, encircled by a ring of black rock. The pulsing beam of flame-like magicka that penetrated through every level of the tower was surrounded by tall needles of rock in the centre of the room. Two sets of staircases curved around the room, leading up the next level of the Sigillum Sanguis. The same fleshy material that the floor was made of was stretched tight to form ramps from the second level up to the final platform. There Elsynia could see the black orb of the Sigil Stone, revolving slowly in the beam of magicka.

The elf had barely cleared the doorway when four arrows streaked through the air towards her. They ricocheted off the shield of Alteration magic shimmering in the air around the swordswoman and Parwen's answering arrow took one of the archers through the throat a second later.

Elsynia launched bolts of ice at the remaining three but didn't wait to see if they connected with their targets. Instead she and Ah-Malz sprinted across the ribbed floor, heading straight for the first staircase. Parwen was directly behind them, nocking another arrow as she ran. Their booted feet rang loudly on whatever odd material formed the steps, the appearance of which resembled black thorns tipped with blood.

A Dremora mage appeared at the top of the stairs; Ah-Malz's claymore hewed through him with a powerful stroke before he had a chance to cast. A pair of Fire Atronachs lurched towards them and the Argonian moved to engage as Elsynia darted past. An instant later, there was movement in her peripheral vision and an enormous warhammer swung out of nowhere, colliding heavily with her magical shield. The shield – only designed to stop arrows – shattered instantly.

The Dremora roared something in his own language and swung the hammer again. Elsynia threw herself to the left as it crashed down where she had been a moment before. She rolled back up onto her feet, propelled by training and adrenaline. Lightning flew from her fingertips and the Dremora was blasted into the wall.

Turning away from the corpse, Elsynia dispatched a few Scamps creeping up on her and then looked for her comrades. Ah-Malz was leaning against the wall a short distance away, breathing hard. The bodies of several Atronachs and a Spider Daedra were at his feet. Evidently, one of the Spider's debilitating spells was still in effect so she hurried over and did her best to bolster his strength. Parwen stood nearby as she did so, sharp eyes scanning the chamber, bow at the ready. The number of bodies decorated with arrows testified to her deadly skill.

With Ah-Malz healed, the three warriors swiftly mounted the final ramp. The slippery red flooring sank slightly under their boots but they pressed on, arriving at the final platform. Elsynia heard Parwen groan quietly in dismay beside her. She couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. A line of Dremora stood between them and the Sigil Stone; all Kynvals, the strongest of the rank and file warriors; all fresh, and eager for battle. The swordswoman knew, as her two companions did, that they couldn't win this fight on strength of arms alone. It would be extremely difficult even if they were well rested, with their armour and weaponry in tiptop condition. Exhausted and battered as they were, the three Guildsmen would be slaughtered if they attempted to fight the Kynvals solely with physical might.

Elsynia stepped forward a pace, gathering most of her remaining magicka to her, leaving only a small amount in reserve. It wreathed her in a purple halo and seeing this, the Kynval warriors roared and charged. A solid wall of telekinetic energy smashed into the Dremora, throwing them bodily off the platform and sending them all plummeting down to the lowest level of the Sigillum Sanguis.

The swordswoman sagged a little. "Quick, the Sigil Stone, before more –"

Something crashed into the middle of her back with tremendous force. Elsynia flew through the air and collided heavily with the wall, collapsing into a limp heap. All the air had been forced from her lungs and she lay choking, struggling to inhale as blackness swam across her vision.

Ah-Malz spun around just in time to see the next swing of the battleaxe whistling down towards his head. He dodged and slashed out with his claymore, forcing the Kynval back. It had approached silently behind them up the staircase; evidently a latecomer to the party.

"Parwen, get the Stone!" the Warder roared, throwing all his strength into blocking the Dremora's next attack. His strong arms shook with fatigue as his sword absorbed the blow.

The nimble archer sprinted across the room as the Kynval snarled with rage and attempted to bowl the Argonian over to reach her. Ah-Malz gave ground but refused to give way; a second later Parwen snatched the void-black Stone out of the rippling beam of fiery magicka. The Dremora warrior's howl of fury rang out as the room began to shudder. The Oblivion Gate's anchor to Nirn had between removed and the loosed magicka engulfed the tower in an inferno of flame. Then the world warped around them and three warriors were wrenched away. There was a disconcerting feeling of bending and twisting, before the Oblivion Gate spat them back out into the mortal plane.

Parwen groaned and raised her head from the dirt, just in time to see the gateway dissolve into a red mist and then fade to nothingness. Only scorched earth and the claws of rock that had framed the Gate signaled that it had ever been there at all. Time had passed while they had been inside; it was night now but the sky above was reassuringly familiar, black dotted with pinpoints of silver. The moons were full and their soft light was comforting; gentle after the harsh red of Oblivion.

The archer could have wept with relief. She sat up and saw Ah-Malz stirring nearby. Then her eyes fell on Elsynia and she went cold. The swordswoman was an inert heap of limbs, golden armour shining dully in the moonlight.

"Oh dear Akatosh, no," muttered Parwen frantically, scrambling on clumsy legs over to her friend. She gently turned the other elf over. As she did so, Elsynia's eyes flickered open and her entire body jerked. The swordswoman made a choking noise, clearly struggling to breathe, so the Bosmer hastily looped an arm around her comrade's shoulder and pulled her up into a sitting position.

For a minute, Elsynia's mind was consumed by panic as she fought to draw air into her body; then with a huge gasp, her lungs finally expanded and the life-giving oxygen rushed in. The blackness faded away with every breath she took and it was a moment before the mer could concentrate on anything other than the sensation of the air moving in and out of her body. Then Elsynia became aware of the arm around her shoulders; she looked up to see Parwen supporting her weight. The archer beamed, practically radiating relief. "Thank the Nine. For a second there I was terrified that you had died."

"Nope. You'll have to put up with me for a while longer yet." The swordswoman managed to smile at her friend and then looked up at Ah-Malz, who was standing over them both protectively. He watched her with concern. "I'm fine. Beaten up, but fine," she insisted.

Parwen gave her a hand up and as she stood, Elsynia had to suppress a groan. The battleaxe that had winded her had also bitten deep into her body, through her Dwarven armour and into the skin of her back - though, thankfully, her protective shell of Alteration magic had taken the worst of the blow. She could feel the blood soaking her shirt and quickly sent a small wave of Restoration magicka through the wound, sealing it shut and forcing out any shards of metal that might have been caught in it.

"I am looking forward to a soft bed so much," sighed Parwen, rolling her shoulders. Her chainmail had been reduced to little more than scraps of metal hanging from her slender frame, and they clinked together softly with the movement.

"It might have to wait," rumbled Ah-Malz. He had been scanning their surroundings and his attention had been caught by the distant walls of Anvil.

"What? Why?" the archer tried to stand up on the tips of her toes, in order to follow the line of his gaze.

"Well, judging by the fire and smoke visible, it appears that the Daedra stranded here when the Gate closed are still attempting to break into Anvil. If we want a bed, I think we might be required to aid in the defense effort."

The two mer groaned in unison. All three warriors had already been fighting for hours on end and every single part of their bodies ached with fatigue and the stress of constant injury.

Elsynia dredged up the last of her magicka and washed away the worst of their exhaustion and wounds. Then the trio set off down the scorched hillside, heading for Anvil and the Daedra that awaited them there.

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**A/N: There you go. A whacking great big chapter at 10,300 words. x_x The Oblivion Gate really ran away with me. **

**Please remember to review. Thanks. xD**


	7. Whatever Sunlight Remains to Them

**A/N: A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone! I've actually had two thirds of this written since about mid-December – but that's when I got access to Skyrim. So. Yeah. *sheepish smile* Nuff said. (Also I'm ill with literally the worst cold I've ever had, which I received as a late Christmas present. I just feel exhausted all the time and I'm busy hacking up my lungs constantly. Nasty stuff.)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. *sad face***

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**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter Seven: ****Whatever Sunlight Remains to Them**

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"You've got to be kidding me; it's worth at least _twice _that..."

Elsynia leant against the wall, gauntleted arms folded, posture radiating boredom. She watched the progress of a spider slowly creeping across the windowsill, while Parwen haggled fiercely with Thoronir. The archer was quite willing to spend all afternoon getting the best bargains but shopping quickly lost its appeal for the swordswoman. She and Ah-Malz already sold all their loot and were waiting with varying degrees of patience for their friend to finish.

Elsynia heaved a deep sigh. The Argonian looked at down at her, a hint of amusement on his face. "Why don't you go ahead to the Arcane University? I'll wait for her," he rumbled quietly.

The elf brightened at the prospect of escaping early. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all. I know how much you want to see Tirion." One scaly eyelid dropped in a wink.

Elsynia glowered but refused to take the bait. "I'll see you both at the University then." She strode across the room and, opening the door, stepped into the outside world.

It was mid-afternoon. A drifting mass of grey rainclouds covered the heavens, though the occasional patch of startlingly bright blue sky was visible through the gaps in the cloud layer. The wind gusted strongly and a fine drizzle fell on the main thoroughfare of the Market District. Despite the uncertain weather, the streets were thronged with shoppers and the cries of the traders rose over the general hubbub of conversation.

Elsynia moved away from the doorway of the Copious Coinpurse, navigating through the crowds in the centre of the road. Her feet began carrying her automatically along the familiar route to the Arcane University, allowing her thoughts to drift. The swordswoman's mood was steadily rising, both at being freed from hanging around in the shops for another hour or so, and at the prospect of seeing Tirion again.

It had taken them a week to reach the Imperial City from Anvil. After closing the Gate, they had arrived back at the coastal city to find that the Daedra attack had almost completely neutralised – the Anvil guard had definitely proven their worth, along with the local Fighters and Mages Guilds. The three warriors had helped mop up the last few dredges of the attack force and then collapsed gratefully into bed at the Fighters Guildhall. They had spent the next few days recuperating in Anvil and waiting on repairs to their armour and weapons – or in Parwen's case, bought an entirely new suit of chainmail.

On the fourth morning after closing the Gate, the three comrades had set off for the Imperial City. They had only stopped to clear out an abandoned-fort-turned-goblin-lair; mainly for the reassuring familiarity of it, after the unsettling experience of a trip to Oblivion. They had been through the fort before but had been forced to leave several locked chests; this time, however, the Skeleton Key was in Elsynia's possession. It had more than proved its worth when she had tried it on the locks. As a result, the warriors had arrived at the Imperial City with vastly improved temperaments and several rare treasures apiece.

Elsynia whistled happily as she exited the Imperial City from the Arboretum's exterior door and began crossing the bridge to the Arcane University. The rain was clearing up and sunlight was now streaming sporadically through breaks in the cloud layer. Her pack was a comforting weight, heavy with the gold she had made. It had been depleted somewhat by her purchases but restocking on Welkynd Stones and restoration potions was a necessity.

The swordswoman passed through the massive doors at the far end of the bridge and emerged into the courtyard of the University. The main path was lined with enormous rune-carved basins. Each one was filled with deep purple flames that were strangely silent, that did not hiss and spark like a normal fire. This, even more so than their unusual colouration, signified the intense magicka that fuelled their creation.

Directly in front of her was the imposing presence of the Arch-Mage's tower. It was a tall, looming edifice, formed of silver-grey stone and possessed of a wide, solid build that gave it an air of unshakeable strength. It sat in the centre of a wall that bisected the circular complex of the University, separating the courtyard from the University buildings. On the ground at the foot of the tower was a circular mosaic, painstakingly etched with intricate shimmering symbols. The building itself was draped in long, red banners that fluttered in the wind and was flanked on either side by a small gate set into the wall. These gates only allowed access to the University for mages who possessed a key. All visitors had to enter the tower itself and present themselves in the Arch-Mage's lobby.

Elsynia ignored the door to the lobby and walked up to the one of the gates, still whistling merrily. The patrolling Battlemages eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, until she produced a key and fitted it into the lock. It turned smoothly and clicked open. The guards relaxed and moved on.

With a slight push, the gates swung back noiselessly on well-oiled hinges and the elf strolled through, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she pocketed the key. They didn't need to know that it didn't belong to her.

An half an hour later, the swordswoman was wandering up and down the corridors of the University, thoroughly lost. The hallways, with their high, vaulted ceilings and graceful, sweeping architecture, seemed to stretch on forever. However, her good mood was unaffected. The University was a very pleasant place to get lost in and Elsynia had always managed to find Tirion's rooms in the past. Eventually.

A pair of Apprentices went past, their green robes billowing around them as they walked. They eyed her with surreptitious curiosity. Well, she supposed that an unfamiliar mer clanking up and down the University in a full suit of Dwarven armour wasn't exactly a common sight.

Eventually though, after walking around for another half hour or so, her patience ran out and the swordswoman collared one of the next two Apprentices to walk past – did they always walk in pairs?

"Do you know where Tirion's room is?" Elsynia demanded of the Imperial, who was looking a little alarmed. Probably because she had a fistful of his robes.

"Who?" he squeaked.

"Oh, do you mean Master-Wizard Tirion? That good-looking High Elf?" giggled his companion, a Breton girl.

Elsynia looked at her, nonplussed. "Good-looking? I…" Then the more important part of the sentence registered. "Wait, _Master-Wizard__?_ Since _when?_"

"Um, since a couple of weeks ago, I think," she replied uncertainly, looking bemused by the mer's reaction. "And his rooms are just down the corridor and to the left."

Elsynia dropped the Imperial, who was beginning to choke from her tight grip on the collar of his robes, and sped off down the hall.

_Master-Wizard? _The swordswoman couldn't help feeling a little stunned as she dodged around a gaggle of Journeymen heading the opposite way from her. _He's only twenty-four! I'm no expert on mage hierarchy, but I'm pretty sure only the Arch-Mage himself ranks above a Master-Wizard._

Not that it was surprising in terms of ability; Tirion had always excelled at the magical arts. It was the reason he had left the Fighters Guild three years ago. As much as it pained Elsynia to see him go, it had been apparent to everyone what his true calling was.

_Yes, _sighed the mer internally, slowing down as she arrived at the door the Breton apprentice had indicated. _It's only the speed of his promotions that surprises me. He is powerful and skilled – and worked extremely hard to become that. He has the ability to be a Master-Wizard for sure._

Elsynia took a deep breath, knocked once and pushed open the door. Tirion's rooms were in their usual state of orderly chaos. Desks were piled high with books and parchment, with the occasional escaped sheet floating down onto rest on the stone floor. Inkwells and quills were scattered around the entire living area and a trail of ink droplets led from one workspace to the next.

However, it was the alchemy table which drew her eyes. Retorts, calcinators, alembics, mortars and pestles were arranged across the surface in a seemingly random pattern. Some of the apparatuses were cold; some glowed cherry-red with heat, their contents slowly bubbling away. The ingredients themselves littered every available part of the tabletop; scraps of Cairn Bolete Cap, smidgeons of Dreugh Wax, shards of Minotaur Horn, blobs of quivering Ectoplasm and a few scattered crystalline flakes of Frost Salt.

It was the mage himself though, that held Elsynia's attention. Tirion sat at the table amongst the delicate, spiralling glass apparatuses, writing on a sheaf of parchment. Light flooded in from one of the many windows, brightening his shaggy mane of blond hair to a glowing white-gold. An ink-stained hand came up absentmindedly to brush several stray strands from his handsome face. His dark eyes were serious; intent in a way the swordswoman remembered they only became when he was utterly focused, though she was more accustomed to seeing that look in combat situations rather than in a laboratory.

Something loosened in Elsynia's chest at the sight of her friend – tension that she hadn't even been aware of until it was released. The feeling of relief was overwhelming, and to her surprise, the mer realised how much she had been unconsciously worrying that she would never see him again.

"I thought I asked not to be disturbed." The swordswoman jumped slightly in surprise as Tirion spoke; his quiet voice seeming louder in the absolute silence of his rooms. He hadn't glanced up from his work and his tone was one of mild annoyance.

A grin crept across Elsynia's face as she spotted an opportunity for teasing. "Oh, I _see_," she drawled, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. "Now that you're a big-shot mage, you're too important to talk to the little people; is that it, _Master-Wizard_ Tirion?"

The Alters' head snapped up and his intense, serious expression dissolved into a stare of astonishment. "_Elsynia_?"

She smirked, pleased at having startled him so thoroughly. "The one and only."

Tirion's astonishment melted into a wicked grin, which only served to highlight his handsome features even further. He stood and swiftly moved out from behind the table, before sweeping Elsynia up in a hug.

"I always forget how bloody _tall _you are," the swordswoman muttered into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his lean form to return the embrace. Even when she strained on tip-toe, the High Elf topped her by at least a head.

Tirion's mocking laughter rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her ear. "We're not all tiny half-Bosmers, you know. Some of us grow to a decent height."

"Watch who you're calling tiny, mage," Elsynia growled half-heartedly. She was entirely too happy to see her childhood friend again to be genuinely angry. The swordswoman pressed her face against the fabric of his robes, inhaling the familiar scents of honey and cinnamon, along with something that was uniquely Tirion.

Then the elf stiffened as she noticed something – or rather, noticed the _lack_ of it. Her hands slid under the outer layer of the Altmer's robes and she began patting his torso in the manner of one searching for a concealed weapon.

Tirion looked down at her in surprise, and then his lips curved in a delighted smirk. "It's a bit early in the day for that sort of thing, don't you think, El? I'd be happy to oblige you later, though, when I'm not so busy."

Elsynia stopped her search and glowered up him. He had kept up a constant, casual flirtation since they were both in their teens and she was well used to his suggestive comments. She was more annoyed by his attempted evasion. "Where is your armour?"

The High Elf tilted his head slightly. "Armour?" he queried, his tone radiating innocence. The glint in his eyes, however, said that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Damn it, Tirion!" The swordswoman was practically quivering with frustration. She stepped back, pulling out of his arms. "I know you mages think magicka makes you completely invincible, but the fact is, it doesn't! You more than anyone should know; for Mara's sake, you were in the Fighters Guild for two years! You've had plenty of combat experience and you've seen first hand what happens when a mage runs out of magicka; even light armour can save you from a fatal wound when your shields fail! You _know_ that!"

Tirion held up his hands in a placating fashion, all the humour drained from his expression. "Elsynia," he said gently. "Look at me." The other elf hesitated, then stopped her agitated pacing and met his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You're not wearing your chainmail, that's what's wrong –"

"No, I mean what's _wrong?_" He held her gaze steadily. "This happens all the time; you come here, you nag me to wear armour, I refuse, you get hissy, I tease you, we fight, and then we make up again. Right now, you're acting as if I'm going to die if I don't wear the chainmail this instant. I'll repeat; what's wrong?"

Elsynia stared at him, realising he was right. "I –" All her repressed worries bubbled to the surface, making her stomach clench tight with a by-now-familiar tension. "I don't _know_!"

The swordswoman collapsed on a nearby settee, her head in her hands. She heard a rustle of paper as Tirion shifted a stack of books off the seat and then felt the settee sink slightly as he sat down next to her.

"Tell me about what's been happening lately."

Elsynia looked up into the mage's concerned eyes. He examined her closely, apparently analysing her expression. "I know about your recent actions as the Hero of Kvatch – is it something to do with that?"

The swordswoman blinked, startled, and then managed a brief smile. "Parwen thought you might have heard about that."

Tirion grinned, a swift flash of humour, there and gone again. "We mages tend to be very well informed. Besides, I wanted to know why you'd missed our meeting." Then he was serious again. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Elsynia poured out the entire story over the next half hour, starting from the night of her birthday. When she came to the part about the Brotherhood, the High Elf's eyes darkened with concern but he didn't speak. The swordswoman finished her narrative at the point when they had left Anvil three days ago. When she finally stopped, her throat was dry from the constant speaking. Tirion fetched her a mug of water in thoughtful silence and she gratefully gulped down the cool, clear liquid as he resumed his seat next to her.

"So..." the Altmer broke the silence, drawing out the syllable in contemplative way. He looked at her, the tiniest hint of amusement in his gaze. "As far as I can tell, this new level of concern for my wellbeing is the result of current events. They're making you anxious and triggering your overprotective streak."

Elsynia narrowed her eyes at him over her mug. She could see the sense in his words but she disliked the almost dismissive way he addressed her worry for his safety. "You make it sound as if I'm overreacting to the amount of danger you're in. You might not be actively fighting at the moment, but you travel the roads all the time; you could easily come across an Oblivion Gate and its assortment of Daedra. Plus, I wouldn't put it past the Mythic Dawn to attack you simply because of your association with me. If they take you by surprise, before you have a chance to shield magically, armour could protect you from being slain."

Tirion looked away, considering. There was silence for a minute and then he nodded. "As you wish. I'll wear the chainmail everywhere, until you are happy that this Oblivion crisis has passed. Does that satisfy you?"

The swordswoman relaxed a little. She was aware that he hadn't changed his opinion on magic being a suitable substitute for armour; he was only doing it because of her concern. Hopefully this current situation would make him see the benefits. "Yes. Thank you."

Tirion grinned at her, the laughter flooding back into his eyes again. "You are most welcome, my lady." His tone was mockingly solemn. "Is there anything else that you wish me to do?"

Elsynia ignored his jibe and delved into her pack. "As a matter of fact..." she drew out her dark green travelling cloak. "I've been meaning to ask if you can enchant this for me so that it will repel water."

Interest flared in the High Elf's expression and he took the swathe of material from her, examining it with a professional eye. "I don't see why not. The cloth is strong and fairly new; it'll hold the enchantment." His gaze flicked to her, amused. He knew of her intense dislike for cold, wet weather. "I take it you've finally had enough of being rained on?"

Elsynia gave a grumble of assent and he laughed. It was a warm, familiar sound to her ears. Another thought occurred and the swordswoman rummaged through her pack again. "I have your alchemy ingredients as well; two months worth, since I missed our last meeting."

"Ah, good." Tirion stood and cleared a space on his workbench. Elsynia began unloading her bag, passing the items to the mage who started organising them on the tabletop.

"I still can't believe you developed such an interest in alchemy," the swordswoman remarked, handing him a jar of Glow Dust. "It's just about as far as you can get from Destruction magicka."

The Altmer smiled, deft fingers rearranging a row of saucers. "Destruction was only my first love. Admittedly, I didn't try my hand at alchemy for a long while – it seemed the least proactive of all the magical disciplines and I wasn't as interested in something that required me to spend a lot of time closeted indoors. Now though..."

"Now, you love it every bit as much as blowing things up." Elsynia finished, passing him a bag of Fire Salts. He didn't need to explain further; she knew exactly what drew him. They shared the same enjoyment of discovery. Whenever the swordswoman entered a new dungeon, it was the thrill of anticipation, the joy in uncovering hidden treasures and treading untouched ground which she loved. Tirion was the same; only his love of exploration now manifested in the mixing of potions, in the wonder of combining different ingredients to create something new. It was the same thrill that had driven him to craft his own spells, to experiment with his magicka beyond the established norm.

Elsynia reached into her pack and drew out several Nirnroots; the last and most precious of the ingredients she had collected. The blue-green plants nestled in her palm, each emitting a soft glow. Several faint chimes were just audible, right on the edge of hearing. The swordswoman was never quite sure why the plants made a noise at all.

"You must have hundreds of these by now," she commented as she carefully deposited the Nirnroots into Tirion's waiting hands. "What exactly are they used for?"

"It's a surprise." The High Elf winked at her. "Sinderion and I are working on a project."

Elsynia rolled her eyes in amusement. "That means you haven't got a clue."

"Patience, my warrior friend." Tirion smiled, refusing to be ruffled. "All will be revealed in time."

"You mean once you find out for yourselves," the swordswoman teased. She was well aware of the tendency of mages to appear mysterious when they were trying to cover up their own ignorance.

The Altmer made a non-committal noise in his throat. Then he asked, "Speaking of rare ingredients, I suppose that – based on what you've told me of this deal with Dark Brotherhood – I won't be receiving any samples of Oblivion's flora and fauna?"

Elsynia had to hide her smile at the swift change of subject but she didn't call him on it. "I'm afraid not."

Tirion looked at her, his dark eyes becoming serious again. "Just promise me you'll be careful around the Brotherhood. I can see why you're accepting their offer but I don't trust their sincerity at all."

The swordswoman nodded, her humour melting away as the knot of nervous tension began twisting in her stomach again. She attempted a smile. "Of course I'll be careful. I'm just as wary of the whole thing as you are."

The two mer fell silent for a few seconds. Elsynia watched as Tirion placed each Nirnroot into a bag of wet soil, clearly ready to be transported. Then another thought occurred to her. "Though, while we're on the subject of being careful, there was something else I wanted to ask you."

He glanced up, curious. "Yes? What would that be?"

"I don't suppose you know of a ward that will protect me while I sleep? I'm sick of being crept up upon when I'm most vulnerable and almost all shielding spells require active concentration to maintain; something I can't do when I'm sleeping."

The High Elf nodded thoughtfully, approval clear on his face. "That's a sensible idea, especially now. After all, you've never had to worry about assassins before." He shot her a quick smile. "It just so happens that I have created a spell like that. I tried it mainly as an exercise in control but it happened to turn out extremely well. The spell also has a dual function, in that it will both shield you from attack and wake you up if someone tries to interfere with it in any way, such as attempting to Dispel the enchantment."

Elsynia beamed with both delight and some measure of relief. "Wonderful! That sounds like exactly what I need. I knew there was a reason that I visit you," she teased.

Tirion's grin broadened. "Wait until you see what else I have for you." He put down the last Nirnroot and strode away through a door that led to the one of the other rooms in his quarters. He reappeared a minute later, holding a scroll in each hand. They were both tied shut with a purple ribbon. "You just reminded me that I still had these; extremely late birthday presents."

"Oh!" The swordswoman blinked, surprised. "Thank you."

Elsynia accepted the first of the scrolls that he held out to her. Then she almost dropped it in shock. The power of the magicka radiating from the parchment was so strong that it felt as though the scroll was barely enough to contain it.

With a tug, the purple ribbon unravelled. The swordswoman unrolled the paper and examined it closely. She frowned. Spells could be stored within parchment but they could only be cast once. After that their magic was spent and the paper would disintegrate. That was why the elf didn't make a habit of using them – not to mention the price. Normally, though, she was still able to identify the spells when they were transferred into parchment by the feel of their magic. However, this particular scroll's magicka was almost completely unfamiliar to her.

Elsynia glanced up at Tirion, frowning. "What _is _this?"

"A teleportation spell."

The swordswoman blinked, momentarily speechless with astonishment. Then she managed, "_Teleportation_? Truly?"

The Altmer wore a smug expression, clearly pleased by her reaction. "Yes."

Elsynia shook her head, incredulous. "I didn't think that was possible. I mean, I know of the portals in the Arch-Mage's tower, but outside of that..."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. There is a type of spell known as defines a specific area that your magicka will identify and transport you to when you cast Recall, which is the basic teleportation spell," the High Elf explained, becoming enthusiastic as he warmed to his subject.

The swordswoman frowned, thinking over how useful such spells would have been on so many occasions, if only she'd known about them. "I've never heard of Mark or Recall before."

Tirion nodded. "That's not surprising; use of them is almost non-existent in this province. They're far more common in Morrowind. One of the few instances that you'll see their usage in Cyrodiil is in Arch-Mage's tower; in the portals you mentioned. The portals themselves are actually made up of an intricate series of Mark spells and a modified version of Recall, all interlinked to allow people to pass freely between the various floors of the tower. However, what _I_ wanted to do was to see if it were possible to create a form of teleportation that didn't rely on the prior use of a Mark spell."

"I see," Elsynia murmured, thinking it over. "You wanted to know if you could travel to any place you felt like, simply by casting a spell and directing your thoughts to your destination."

Tirion smiled, pleased by her quick grasp of the situation. "That's right."

"And I take it you succeeded, then?" asked the swordswoman, gesturing to the scroll still held in her right hand.

"Ah." He grimaced. "Yes and no. Unfortunately, not all experiments work out the way I want them to. I've been forced to come to the conclusion that, as wonderful an idea as it is, it's simply not feasible to create such a limitless teleportation spell for the average mage. It took me several sessions, during which I completely exhausted my considerable reserves, to store enough magicka to power that one scroll. And a scroll is all most mages would be able to use; I understand now that teleportation magic is hideously complex in nature. Even if they had the level of power required, few would understand how to actually cast the spell."

"Then I can't possibly accept this." Elsynia was aghast at the idea of him giving her something so valuable. "It should be used for something important; you can't just give it to me –"

"I can and I am." The Altmer's tone was mild. "I can think of no better use than what it was intended for. I have a second scroll, which I'll keep to allow others to study it. There's no point in having _two_ of them sitting on a shelf, gathering dust."

The swordswoman opened her mouth to argue further, and then thought the better of it. She had known Tirion for years and his expression indicated that he wasn't going to be moved on the subject. Swallowing her protest, she instead said, "Thank you. I'll put it to good use, I promise."

"I know you will." The High Elf smiled. He then passed her the scroll in his other hand. "And _this _little beauty is another invention of mine. Best used if you need to beat a hasty retreat from a combat situation. Try it out and let me know how it goes. If you like it, I can teach you the proper spell."

Elsynia examined her second birthday gift with interest. Like the teleportation scroll, it was imbued with a spell that felt almost completely foreign to her; though she would hazard a guess that it was a brand of Illusion magicka. "I don't suppose that I get to know what it exactly what it does, I do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No." Tirion smirked. "I refused to divulge the exact nature of the enchantment. You'll have to find out for yourself."

"That's rather dangerous."

"What, don't you trust me, Elsynia?" he smiled charmingly.

"Nope," the swordswoman lied, hoping to provoke him into an answer.

"My beloved, why do you wound me so?" The mage placed a hand over his heart, looking at her with an expression of mock sorrow.

"Ass."

Tirion's affected sadness dissolved into laughter at her irritation. "All right. The spell is guaranteed to immobilize all enemies within a seventy-foot radius for at least four minutes. That's all I'm telling you; you have to find out the rest for yourself."

Elsynia nodded, a little more comfortable about using the scroll now that she had the additional information on its properties. "I can live with that."

There was a loud knock at the door and both mer looked up, startled by the interruption. "Come in," called Tirion.

The door swung open and a nervous-looking Breton Apprentice, no older than seventeen, edged into the room. "Master-Wizard? There's an Argonian and a Bosmer in the lobby. They claim to be here to see you."

The High Elf glanced at Elsynia, a fleeting smile touching his lips. "Thank you. Tell them we'll be down momentarily."

With a swift nod to show he had heard and understood, the Breton quickly fled the room.

"Are you a complete dragon when I'm not around?" the swordswoman enquired in amazement. "That boy ran away as if he expected you to start launching fireballs at him."

Tirion laughed. "Most of them are like that at first. The new Apprentices tiptoe around anyone higher than the rank of Conjurer for the first few weeks, until they work out we're not going to take their heads off just for interrupting us." The Altmer paused. "Well, most of us won't," he amended. "It certainly makes life interesting anyway."

"I'll bet," murmured Elsynia, amused at the thought of all the timid Apprentices creeping around the University. "Should we go then? From the sound of it, Parwen and Ah-Malz are waiting for us."

"Of course." Tirion swept up the loose papers that he had been working on before the swordswoman arrived, tidying them into a bundle. Then something seemed to occur to him and he paused to glance over at her. "By the way, how did you get into the University? I didn't have to come and collect _you_ from the lobby."

Elsynia grinned impishly as she pulled out a certain key and dangled it in front of him. "I do believe that you never asked me for your spare gate key back."

"Ah." The High Elf smiled. "I was wondering where I'd left that." He crossed the room and opened the door. "After you," Tirion gestured to the doorway, sweeping an exaggeratedly low bow. "Ladies first."

Elsynia merely rolled her eyes at his theatrics and strolled out into the hallway. "Don't mind if I do."

He followed her and together they began making their way to the lobby. The two mer walked in companionable silence until another question cropped up in Elsynia's mind. "How is my father? Have you seen him recently?"

Tirion blinked, clearly derailed from whatever he had been thinking about. "Henantier? Oh, he's fine." An amused smile flashed across his face. "At least, he is now that I've talked him out of his latest harebrained scheme."

"Oh? What has he done now?" The swordswoman was resigned to Henantier's mad experiments by this point but she couldn't deny she was at least a little intrigued to hear what he had come up with this time.

"I'm not sure exactly what he was planning to do with it, but he was in the process of creating an amulet that would let him consciously explore his dreams."

Elsynia frowned. "That's sounds...rather dangerous."

"It is," the High Elf agreed. "Messing around with the mind is a very risky business, even for those with experience. Which is why I gently coaxed him out of it; there was a high chance that he would have done permanent damage to himself."

Elsynia snorted and shook her head. "If not for you keeping him from trying out his more dangerous ideas, my father would have been expelled from the Guild long before now."

The rest of the way to the lobby was spent in amiable chatter and the occasional, comfortable silence. To the swordswoman's annoyance, despite the fact that it had taken her an hour to find Tirion's rooms, it took the mage mere minutes to lead her back through the massive arched hallways of University to where a certain pair of warriors were waiting.

"Tirion!" squealed Parwen, launching herself across the room. The Altmer caught her before she cannoned into him.

"How's my favourite archer?" he asked warmly, squeezing her in a bear hug.

The Wood Elf beamed up at Tirion and hugged him back just as hard. "I am extremely happy at the moment!"

He laughed and released her. "Good to hear." A few quick strides took him across the room to where Ah-Malz was standing. The big Argonian straightened up from where he had been leaning against the doorframe to grasp forearms with the mage in a rough but friendly greeting.

"It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, my friend," the Warder rasped, his face splitting into a rare, toothy smile.

Elsynia observed them, a slight smile on her lips. It was hard to believe now that the two hadn't got along when they had first met. She glanced at Ah-Malz. "So how did it turn out at the shops? I take it Parwen finally got the price she wanted for that enchanted dagger?"

The Argonian rumbled with laughter. "Thoronir didn't stand a chance. Did you really expect otherwise?"

Parwen shot a hurt look at Ah-Malz. "I don't know what you're talking about. He just needed to be persuaded a bit is all." Her expression was a little too innocent.

The swordswoman raised an eyebrow, amused. "Of course he did."

"What?" the Bosmer exclaimed. She looked up at Tirion. "You understand what I mean, don't you?"

The mage opened his mouth to reply but Elsynia cut him off before he could speak. "Of course Tirion understands. He's a serial flirt, just like you."

"My love, she is so cruel," the Altmer said to Parwen in a stage-whisper. "Beautiful, but cruel. I am doomed."

"You also share the same trait of overdramatizing things," the swordswoman added. She rolled her eyes as they shot her identical wounded looks.

"I take it you got what you came here for then, Elsynia?" Ah-Malz broke in, clearly attempting to divert them from their bickering.

"I'll bet she did," the archer waggled her eyebrows suggestively, shooting a sidelong glance at Tirion. The mage simply smirked in reply.

Elsynia sighed with mock sadness. "Not yet I'm afraid, Parwen. Tirion still has to take me to the training rooms to teach me an advanced warding spell."

"Oh, is that what you're calling it now?" Parwen smirked.

The High Elf grinned but to Elsynia's relief, didn't pounce on the Bosmer's comment like he normally would. "You're both right and wrong about that, El," he said.

At the swordswoman's questioning look, Tirion elaborated, "We've had a new practice area constructed recently; I was going to take you there instead. It's an outdoor training ring which, oddly enough, has ended up looking somewhat like a miniature version of the Arena. It's also surrounded by various layers of wards to prevent stray blasts of magic from hitting anyone."

Elsynia nodded in approval. "That sounds like an excellent idea. When do we start?"

Tirion held out one golden hand in challenge, a teasing glint in his eye. "Right now, if you think you can handle it."

The swordswoman raised an eyebrow and placed her palm in his, accepting the challenge. His larger hand covered hers completely; his skin was warm and smooth to the touch. "Do you even have to ask?"

xxx

It was eight o'clock at night by the time the four companions entered the Market District, heading for the Feed Bag and the promise of a hot dinner. The time taken for Tirion to teach Elsynia how to create the ward had been relatively short; she already knew a range of shielding spells and it had simply been a matter of modifying the way the enchantment was constructed and cast to achieve the desired affect.

However, as per usual where the two mer were concerned, the lesson had rapidly devolved into a magical brawl – it could be safely said that the wards around the training arena were now thoroughly tested. Tirion had won in the end; Elsynia was no match for him in straight-up fight of sheer magical strength but it had never stopped her from trying.

"So how did it happen?" the swordswoman asked. They were walking along the main thoroughfare of the Market District. The massive crowds of earlier were absent, though there were a fair number people still about, their forms shadowy and indistinct in the near darkness. Most were walking with purpose, heading either home or to a tavern, like the four companions. Some, however, were hanging about in the entrances to alleys or under the overhang of shop doors. Elsynia kept half an eye on them and her hand on the hilt of her sword, just in case. They might be people as harmless as beggars or as mundane as thieves, but she wasn't taking any chances. "Your promotion, I mean?"

"Ah, that." The smile that Tirion flashed down at her was warm but she could sense the sudden drop in his mood.

The swordswoman frowned up at him in reply. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

A rueful smile touched his lips. "You know me too well, my friend." The Altmer glanced away, along the street. Not far ahead of them, Ah-Malz was walking with Parwen. The archer was loping along beside the Argonian, keeping up with his longer stride with practised ease. A ceaseless flow of chatter came from the Bosmer, snatches of which kept drifting back to the other two elves. Ah-Malz appeared to just listen in silence – he was not one to waste breath on unnecessary talking. Not that that bothered Parwen. She could keep up a conversation all by herself.

"So?" Elsynia pressed, drawing his attention back to her. "Are you unhappy with your promotion?"

Tirion shook his head. "No, not at all. Merely the circumstances around it." He looked down at the smaller elf. Her eyes were bright with a familiar, avid curiosity. He laughed. "I'll have to explain that comment now, won't I? Ah, where to begin...I suppose you've heard that Arch-Mage Traven has banned Necromancy?"

The swordswoman snorted. "It's only the first thing out of every mage's mouth nowadays. I'm tired of hearing about how the ban has made a lot of them desert the Guild."

"Well, it's actually rather more serious than that."

Elsynia glanced up the Altmer. He was looking straight ahead, but his gaze was distant and his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "The Guild is...very uneasy at present. I can't help but wonder if Traven had any idea of the kind of havoc that would be unleashed by his decision. It's true that I've only been there for three years, but the atmosphere in the University has always been relaxed and tranquil. Now it's strained and unhappy. The tension seeps into everyone, affecting their mood. I've caught myself snapping at people on several occasions for no good reason."

"But why?" the swordswoman asked. "What's causing it?"

Tirion shook his head in disgust. "The mages – the ones who left – have gone rogue. Most of them have banded together and are attacking places affiliated with the Guild. Now all the mages who didn't leave are questioning Traven's decision. Some are afraid; they consider leaving simply to avoid being targeted by the rogues. Some are angry; they predicted the consequences of the ban and were ignored. The cracks are showing and even the Council is divided. The Guild is crumbling from within under the pressure."

Elsynia was silent, quietly appalled by the extent of the damage Tirion had just revealed. Incredible that such harm could be caused by a single decision. For a moment, the only sound was the ring of their boots on the cobblestones. Then, as her mind ran through the implications of what he had said, something occurred to her and she frowned thoughtfully. "It is strange, though, that these rogues are organised enough to be able to carry out raids. They must have a leader. A strong one, at that."

The High Elf nodded. From what she could see through the gathering dusk, his expression was troubled. "I know. We have yet to discover his or her identity. I can't think of many mages with the leadership qualities necessary to hold them together."

Silence fell. The two elves continued along the road, Ah-Malz and Parwen still walking ahead of them. It was now almost completely dark apart from the pools of light where the city guards stood, holding torches. The firelight cast their shadows, huge and flickering, against the towering white walls of the houses. High above, the sky was dotted with a billion tiny pinpricks of light; a vast, glittering expanse of stars that was only interrupted by the strong, slender column of the White-Gold tower. The graceful spire appeared as a black silhouette against the starlight as it rose high above the city into the heavens.

Tirion appeared to have lapsed into deep thought. Now that initial enthusiasm of their reunion was over, it was obvious to Elsynia how tired and worried the mage was. Guilt crept up on her. She felt bad for piling her own problems on top of his, but when she voiced this, he waved her down.

"Share and share alike, El. My worries are your worries, and your worries are my worries."

The swordswoman arched a brow, but was unable to hold back a smile. "I don't remember making any such agreement."

Tirion slung an arm around her shoulders and adopted a serious face. "It's implicit in the 'lifelong friends' pact we made. Remember that?"

Elsynia flushed, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment at the memory of how childishly earnest she had been. "Yes, I do actually." If she recalled correctly they had – in the way of children – met and within minutes declared each other friends for life. She was surprised Tirion had even remembered something from such a long time ago – but then again, he had always had a knack for recalling embarrassing moments.

Parwen chose that second to come bounding back towards them. "What's taking you two so long?" she called. "We're not going to reach the Feed Bag before midnight at this rate!"

"We're reminiscing old times," Tirion told her.

"You can do that when we're eating. I'm so hungry I could eat a goblin!" She paused, reconsidering. "Well, maybe not quite _that _hungry." The archer inserted herself in between the other two mer, linked arms with them and proceeded to drag them forward at a much faster pace.

Parwen didn't slow until they had drawn level with Ah-Malz, then she released them and spun around. The Wood Elf began skipping backwards along the road, facing her three companions as she began fantasising about her dinner. "– and _then_ I'll have a succulent slab of beef, roasted in garlic and thyme –"

Elsynia was listening in amusement as Parwen expounded on her list of favourite dishes, when there was a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. The swordswoman frowned, uncertain. _Was that...? _

Discreetly, Elsynia cast a detect life spell and rotated her gaze slowly around the immediate area. She came up blank...until she looked back at Parwen.

"– sprinkled with salt and just a dash of ginger –"

"Parwen –!" Elsynia's warning shout came too late.

The archer choked on her words as a blade suddenly emerged from her torso in a spray of blood. Behind her, there was a green shimmer as an invisibility spell was broken – revealing a figure clad in Mythic Dawn armour. There was a second of frozen shock amongst the other three companions as the assassin pushed Parwen off his longsword before turning to face them, blade gleaming wetly with the Bosmer's blood.

Then the shock shattered and Ah-Malz barrelled forward with a furious roar, going chest to chest with the assassin. Elsynia dropped to her knees beside Parwen, Restoration magicka already glowing around her hands. The swordswoman was dimly aware of Tirion standing over them protectively, a strong shield spell already expanding to encase all three of them in a shimmering, white-transparent bubble but she ignored it, trusting him to guard her back and turned her attention entirely to Parwen.

The archer's body was convulsing wildly; blood streamed from her mouth and from the gaping wound in her torso, pooling around her on the cobblestones at an alarming rate. The Daedric steel had cut through her armour like a hot knife through butter and scraps of the chainmail had snagged on the torn flesh, glittering silver against the raw red.

Elsynia did her best to push away the panic that rose in her at the sight, instantly placing her hands on Parwen's body and channelling streams of healing energy into the grievous wound. As the Restoration magic flooded through Parwen, the knowledge it communed told Elsynia instantly that the sword had punctured a lung and shattered six ribs. With an injury that severe, she knew the Wood Elf was less than a minute away from death – though it was nothing short of a miracle that the blade had missed her heart – and every second counted if she was to be saved.

Focusing on the most serious problem first, Elsynia increased the flow of healing magicka into Parwen. The archer's lung was rapidly filling up with blood instead of air, so working quickly, she drained the fluid, repaired the damaged organ and supported it as it began to function again. Holding the lung steady, the swordswoman then fed another streamer of magic into the damaged area, carefully reassembling each of the shattered rib bones. Once the ribcage had been reformed, Elsynia released control of Parwen's left lung, allowing it to function on its own, and turned her attention to closing the wound. The Bosmer's body drank in the ribbons of blue-white energy eagerly; fusing blood vessels, knitting flesh and repairing muscle. The jagged hole slowly sealed, pushing out the fragments of chainmail and cloth still caught in the wound as it did so.

The swordswoman gave an inaudible sigh of relief as she lifted her hands away and released the flow of magicka. Though it had seemed to take an age, the entire process hadn't lasted for more than fifteen seconds. "Don't try to move," Elsynia instructed her friend, worried that the archer would accidently tear the newly-formed skin, which was still a little weaker than the flesh surrounding it.

However, the warning was somewhat redundant; Parwen didn't even looked as if she'd heard and certainly wouldn't be moving anywhere under her own power. White-faced and trembling, the Wood Elf lay gasping and staring sightlessly at the cobblestones slick with her own blood.

Though instinctive concern still gripped her, the practical side of Elsynia knew that Parwen's condition was stable and so she jumped to her feet to face the more immediate danger. She was just in time to see Ah-Malz kill the assassin, his claymore hewing the agent's torso almost in two. Nearby, a city guard grappled with another Mythic Dawn member.

Tirion, seeing that he no longer had to watch Elsynia's and Parwen's backs, turned his attention to the second Mythic agent. The Altmer mage shouted a warning to the guard, dropping his magical shield as he did so; the guard sprang away and an enormous fireball leapt from Tirion's palm, streaking across the intervening space to engulf the assassin. The Mythic Dawn agent died instantly, collapsing to the ground as his summoned armour dissolved.

There was silence for moment. Blood still roared in Elsynia's ears and adrenaline thrummed through her as she looked around the street. Judging by the bobbing torch lights heading towards them and distant shouts, all the nearby Imperial City guards were converging on their position. The one guard who had been close enough to help them straightened up and nodded her thanks at Tirion. The tall mage inclined his head in reply.

Judging that the threat had been eliminated, Elsynia dropped back down to Parwen's side. Some measure of lucidity appeared to have returned to the Wood Elf's eyes, though she was still as white as chalk. "I feel terrible," she groaned, sitting up gingerly. Her hands went instinctively to the hole that had been torn in her chainmail and undershirt, both of which were still soaked in her blood. The archer's fingers found the skin underneath and she poked at the ridged red scar just below her right breast, twisting her head in a futile attempt to see the now-healed wound. "You've fixed me properly, haven't you?"

The swordswoman hid her smile of relief. If Parwen was well enough to complain, she would be fine. "Of course. I can't replenish the blood you lost though, which is why you'll still feel dizzy and weak for a while. Though," she paused meaningfully. "You _could _get a better quality of armour. Then these kinds of things wouldn't happen so often."

Parwen rolled her eyes and lurched to her feet. Elsynia rose quickly too and steadied her when the Bosmer swayed like a drunken sailor. "You are_ obsessed_ with armour, El. And I don't have the strength to wear the kind of heavy stuff you do." The archer took a step forward and nearly fell.

"That wasn't what I meant," protested Elsynia. "Just get a higher grade of light armour. And besides, if you really wanted to, you could train yourself to wear heavy armour." The swordswoman had not originally possessed the strength necessary wear the heavier forms of armour either. She had started out with a suit of chainmail much like Parwen's but had reconsidered shortly after joining the Fighters Guild and experiencing combat for herself. Elsynia's close-quarters style of fighting favoured armour that wouldn't give way under a few strong blows and as such she had vigorously trained her body for months to be able to carry the greater weight. Her diminutive body had refused to put on much mass but her muscles had become strong and lean – which was more suitable for a swordfighter in any case – and she had eventually become capable of wearing a heavier type of armour.

Tirion took Parwen's left side and supported her in the same manner as Elsynia was doing on the right. "Don't listen to her," he told the Bosmer conspiratorially. "She goes on and on and on about armour to me too."

The swordswoman glowered at them both but managed to keep her quick temper under control. They were baiting her on purpose and she stubbornly refused to bite, even though they were openly grinning at her.

Ah-Malz broke off the conversation had he had been having with the guard who had aided them and moved back to stand beside them. "We will have to wait for her superior to arrive," the Warder informed his fellow warriors, waving a clawed hand at the guard in indication. "After we've given a statement, we'll probably be able to just go. Word is spreading fast between the cities about the mortal agents of Dagon."

Tirion cast a thoughtful look at the crumpled corpses. "So those were people were two of these Mythic Dawn assassins you were telling me about, El? I thought as much."

The swordswoman just nodded, though his question made her attention return to Parwen. The Wood Elf seemed utterly unconcerned about her recent brush with death and was fidgeting impatiently, despite the fact she could barely stand up without help. "I hope the Guard Captain shows up soon," she muttered. "I'm starving."

"Have patience." Tirion's eyes were fixed on the approaching lights, the holders of whom were finally close enough to be recognisable as members of the Imperial City guard. "It won't be long now."

"Huh." Parwen snorted in apparent disbelief but fell silent anyway.

Elsynia was quiet also. Her body didn't fully relax until a dozen or more guardsmen were crowded around them, surrounding with their reassuring presence. She was vaguely aware of Tirion talking to Audens Avidius but simply let the soothingly familiar sound of his voice wash over her, feeling oddly drained and light-headed, as if she were the one who had lost a great deal of blood instead of Parwen.

Aside from the strange tiredness, there was something else troubling Elsynia and it wasn't until the swordswoman's eyes fell on the bodies of the assassins again that she realised what was it was. _I don't understand them at all. _She tilted her head back, looking up at the sky. The innumerable stars glittered back at her, remote and far removed from the troubles of the world. _Why would any mortal side with a Daedric prince? Most of the Daedra care little for us, that much is evident. We are tools and petty amusements to them. Maybe the Mythic Dawn were promised positions of power in this 'new world' they believe Dagon will bring them; but surely they are not so blind as to believe he would keep such a promise. He will not come to remake our world but to destroy it utterly._

Elsynia's thoughts remained dark and troubled long after Tirion shook her arm to regain her attention. The four companions finally headed to the nearby warmth and light of the Feed Bag and over the course of the night, the swordswoman's depressed mood gradually faded as good food and good company lifted her spirits.

The stars continued to shine far above the quiet, shadowy streets of the Imperial City, ancient and entirely indifferent to the affairs of mortals, as the world slowly turned and the dawn approached.

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**A/N: Please review. ;)**


	8. In the Memory of the Living

**A/N: Hey. So, yeah. It's been a while. So much for early April, huh? I might as well say that updates will be infrequent for this story and then it'll be a nice surprise if they arrive sooner than that. xD**

**Anyway, thanks to everyone who has favourited/alerted so far and especially to those who have reviewed. :D I love you all.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

* * *

**Steel Over Shadow**

**Chapter Eight: ****In the Memory of the Living**

* * *

It was raining when Tirion returned to the Feed Bag the following morning. The streets were completely sodden, puddles forming in every dip in the road. The sky was a dull, uniform grey; a solid blanket of clouds stretched from horizon to horizon. Not a flicker of wind stirred the leaves on the trees. Water gurgled and roared beneath the streets, swirling away down the drains to the sewers.

Tirion approached the entrance to the Feed Bag and ducked under the door lintel, entering the tavern. As he did so, the thin, transparent-blue shield bubble collapsed around him, sloughing off the numerous raindrops that had collected on its surface.

The bar didn't look much worse for wear, despite the rather rowdy crowd that had been in last night, and Tirion was able to instantly spot Parwen and Ah-Malz. Not that it was difficult – apart from the bleary-eyed proprietor, who was leaning on the bar as if he expected to fall over at any second, the two Guildsmen were the only ones in the room. The Bosmer was perched daintily on a barstool, eating her way through an incongruously large plate of food. Ah-Malz was doing the same, only the quantity of food looked far more suited to sustain his massive, muscular frame that it did the archer's.

"Tirion!" Parwen waved a hunk of bread at him in greeting and then stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed vigorously and patted the stool next to her. "Pull up a seat."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?" Tirion inquired. Not waiting for the flippant reply that was sure to come, he added, "And I'm afraid I can't stop. I just came by to drop this off for Elsynia." He held up the swordswoman's travelling cloak. It shimmered faintly as the low light caught the subtle enchantment now weaved into the fabric.

"Oh." Parwen succeeded in swallowing the bread and then chased it down with a mug of water. She looked at Tirion apologetically. "I'm afraid she's already left."

"Already?" Dismay flickered through the Altmer.

"Yeah." The archer shrugged. "Wanted to get it over with. Can't say I blame her. The note specifically stated that she was to go alone though, so Ah-Malz and I said we'd stay here at the Feed Bag for a few days while she, ah –" Parwen flicked a cautious glance at the bartender. "Runs her errand."

Tirion frowned. "That is unfortunate." He glanced at the cloak in hands and then at the two Guildsmen. "Will you two hold onto this and give it to her when she arrives back?"

"Sure." Parwen perked up as he passed the garment to her and she examined it with interest. Then she looked up, her expression questioning. "Why don't you just wait until she comes back to give it to her? It's not like we're going anywhere. In fact, once she gets back, we're going to be sitting around twiddling our thumbs until Martin calls for us again." She paused, looking suddenly horror-stricken at the idea. "Dear gods, I'm going to have find _something _for us to do. I can't handle sitting still for that long."

The mage chuckled. "Well, you might not be busy, but _I_ am. In fact, you were lucky that you arrived when you did yesterday. A couple of hours later and Elsynia would have found my rooms empty. I ended up staying longer because you three descended on me and claimed the rest of my day."

"Oh?" Parwen stabbed a hunk of ham with her fork and popped it into her mouth as she shot the Master-Wizard a quizzical look. "And just where were you going? Did your Guild send you out to dispatch another merry band of necromancers?"

Tirion briefly applied the adjective 'merry' to the memories of his most recent encounters with the rogue mages and had to restrain the urge to laugh. "Eh, not exactly. Actually, I was going to capitalise on the momentary lull in orders from the Arch-Mage and seize the opportunity to take a quick trip into the Jeralls."

Parwen cocked her head interestedly. "Oh? Going on a mystery excursion are you?"

Tirion couldn't restrain the broad smile that spread over his face at the mere thought of where he was going. "Not a mystery – not anymore anyway. A couple of days ago I _finally_ unearthed the location of Frostcrag Spire."

The archer looked blank for a second, then realisation flashed across her face. "Your grandfather's hidey-hole?"

"Yes. I've been searching for it for months now; whenever I got a spare moment. After Grandmother died, he took himself off to live in the Spire permanently, abandoning their house in Cheydinhal." The High Elf frowned, a flicker of old sadness stirred at the memory. "When _he _died last year, he left me both dwellings – but it's taken me this long to simply _find _Frostcrag Spire."

"So where is it then?" Parwen dropped her cutlery and whipped her map out of the bag at her feet. "Show me!"

Tirion obliged, scanning the parchment before pointing at a spot in the Jerall mountains to the east of Bruma. The archer dug out a quill and marked it on the map. "There!" she said, finishing the name with a flourish. "Now we can drop in for a visit."

"Be careful if you do," the Altmer warned. "If memory serves correctly, there are various magical defences on the property."

Parwen nodded, stowing the map away in her bag again. "Okay. 'Be careful when visiting mages' is pretty good piece of general advice anyway," she added, resuming eating.

Tirion rolled his eyes. "Good to know _something_ has penetrated your thick skull."

The Bosmer jabbed her fork at him in an accusing manner. "Says the mer who misplaced a _house!_"

"Well, for a start, I'd say it's a tower rather than a house." The High Elf laughed as Parwen pulled a face at him. "And far more than simply that, it was Grandfather's workshop. It was _meant _to be hard to find."

The archer huffed and then popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. "Looking forward to seeing it again, then?"

"Oh, yes. He only ever took me there once but, by Akatosh…" Tirion sighed in appreciation. "It was magnificent. I was only twelve but even so, I could recognise a virtual paradise for mages when I saw it."

"That's why you look so happy," Parwen concluded, sipping from her mug.

The Altmer nodded in confirmation, his grin widening. "So if you can stand being deprived of my company so soon, I'll leave immediately. I don't know how long it will be before Traven sends me off to do something else and I badly want to visit the Spire before I have to go chasing necromancers again."

The archer waved a hand airily. "Go on then," she said graciously. "You have my permission."

Tirion swept an exaggerated bow in return. "My thanks." He nodded at Ah-Malz, who up until that point had been steadfastly ignoring his companions' theatrics in favour of food. The Argonian tilted his head in brief acknowledgement of the farewell, then Tirion made his escape back out onto the waterlogged streets.

The Master-Wizard didn't take long to reach the stables, his stride quickened by eager anticipation. However, he was inevitably slowed by the process of saddling up Ebony. The black mare was docile, chewing a mouthful of hay and waiting with endless patience for her less-than-horse-savvy master to slowly put her tack together. Of course, he _could _always enlist the help of a stable hand, but he was determined that he should be able to do it for himself – regardless of the fact that it took much longer.

Tirion finally hoisted himself into the saddle with a sigh of relief. He had never been all that great with horses and had only learned to ride because of the sheer necessity of it. The mage was quite sure that the horses knew that too; he'd gone through a lot of mounts until he'd found one that didn't immediately become skittish or act up as soon as he got in the saddle. Of course, Illusion spells went a long way to towards nudging their minds into a calmer state but he preferred not to have to resort to that on a daily basis.

A slight dig in Ebony's flanks sent the mare trotting out of the paddock. The sound of her hooves changed from muffled thuds to sharp, ringing clips as the grass gave way to cobblestones. Tirion turned the horse to face downhill and they began a careful descent of the steep road.

The movement made him aware of the extra weight bumping against his torso under his robes. The Altmer rolled his shoulders, trying to get used to the feel of the chainmail again. It felt vaguely constricting and irritation flickered through him. _Only for you, El. _The memory of the way her green eyes had gazed up at him was the only thing stopping him from ripping the damn thing off and stuffing it in a saddlebag. Behind the visible anger on her features had been that disquieting _fear_; old fear that he recognised all too well. Tirion sighed. He had hoped it was banished for good, but then, if anything was going to reawaken it, it would be the chaos and destruction of war. _You're terrified...terrified that it's going to happen again. That you'll lose one of us._

Tirion was still sunk deep in thought as Ebony reached the bottom of the hill. The horse trotted forwards, heading towards the enormous bridge that spanned the waters of Lake Rumare, connecting the Imperial City to mainland.

"Tirion!"

A loud yell brought him back to his surroundings. The mage's head snapped up and he reined in Ebony, twisting in the saddle to look back up the hill.

Parwen was running down the slope, waving frantically at him. "Tirion!" She skidded to a halt beside him, gasping for breath. "Geez, you move fast!"

Tirion waited with patience and just a hint of amusement as the archer caught her breath. "Not as fast as you that time a pack of trolls chased you up a tree."

Parwen groaned and shot him a look of indignation. She straightened up as she recovered from her sprint. "Are you and Elsynia ever going to stop bringing that up?" He suppressed a chuckle as she pulled a face and didn't wait for his reply. "Never mind. Stupid question. Anyway, this is what I ran halfway across the city for. I noticed it after you left, on the floor of the Feed Bag. El said these things were important so I figured you'd want it back right away."

The Bosmer then proceeded to produce a Nirnroot from somewhere and Tirion hastily extended a hand for her to place it on. She did so. Faint light still spilled from the plant, casting a weak blue-green glow on his tawny skin. The leaves trembled in a non-existent breeze and a soft chime shivered momentarily in the air.

"Ah, thank you." The Master-Wizard tucked the Nirnroot carefully away in a saddlebag along with several dozen of its brothers and sisters. He wondered idly if the bag would glow in the dark too, thanks to the combined luminescence of the plants. "It must have fallen out of my pack."

Parwen stretched up on tiptoe and patted his leg affectionately. "Don't mention it. See you when you get back."

The archer spun around and was about to dash away when two things happened simultaneously. Ebony reared suddenly with a loud whinny of alarm and Tirion was forced to grab hold of the mare's neck to stop himself from being thrown off; at the same time, a grey-skinned figure clad in demonic red-black armour stepped out of the undergrowth, moving to block the road directly in front of Parwen. The Wood Elf leapt back with a startled shout, hands flying to her bow.

Tirion wrestled with his suddenly panicked horse, trying not to fall out of the saddle. He soothed her mind with a strong Illusion spell and managed to bring her under control just in time to see Parwen's second arrow carom off the Dremora's shield. The Bosmer was retreating rapidly, fingers darting to her quiver again. The Kynval made no move to follow, remaining with his feet planted firmly on the path, shield upraised. "Calm yourself, mortal. I have no wish to fight you today."

The Dremora's harsh, guttural voice mangled the words a little but they were still recognisable. Parwen shot the grey-skinned warrior a look of utter disbelief but Tirion merely blinked in surprise, before lowering his hands a little – allowing the flickers of gathered lightning to die away – and appraised the Kynval more carefully. He had made no move to draw the broadsword strapped across his back and his tone didn't convey threat, just... annoyance.

"What business do you have with us then?" Tirion asked in a quiet, carrying voice.

"Not you. Her. The Hero of Kvatch." The Dremora flicked his eyes at Parwen.

The archer looked startled. "Me? I'm not the Hero of Kvatch. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Consternation flickered across the grey warrior's face, followed by irritation. "Do not lie to me. I can feel the oscillations of energy from the Sigil Stone in your possession."

"What has that to do with anything?"

The Kynval gave a bad-tempered snarl. "It means that you are lying about your identity! The only mortal to have removed a Stone recently from Oblivion was the Hero of Kvatch, when she closed the Gate at the city of Anvil."

_Oh, the danger of making assumptions._ Tirion was amused, despite himself.

"That was me actually." Parwen looked askance at the Dremora. "Elsynia _was_ there, and technically it was a team effort to shut the Gate, but I was the one who physically took the Sigil Stone. Elsynia and Ah-Malz said they didn't mind if I kept it."

The grey warrior stared hard at the Bosmer with narrowed golden eyes, assessing the truth of her words. She looked back steadily, unflinching. "Tell me then, if she is your companion; where can I find her?" he said, apparently deciding that wasn't lying.

"First, tell _us_ – why are you seeking her?" Tirion broke in smoothly. "You'll forgive us for doubting your reasons to be benign."

The Kynval snorted. "I never said they were, mortal." The High Elf tensed, ready to draw on a spell if necessary, and he saw Parwen's fingers flutter towards her quiver again. "But it just so happens that all I intend to do is deliver a message." He reached into his cuirass and withdrew a slightly battered-looking white letter sealed with red wax. "I was summoned by a mortal to play courier."

Deep disgust dripped from every syllable and Tirion wondered briefly if being called on to perform such an apparently menial task was why the Dremora was in such a bad mood. _And who would this mortal be?_

"Well, in that case, we can look after it for Elsynia until she gets back." Parwen spoke up, interrupting the Altmer's thoughts. The Wood Elf trotted forward a few paces and held out a hand.

The Kynval sneered at her. "Why don't you just tell me where she is?"

Parwen met his gaze squarely. "Because we don't _know_ exactly where she is at present. But Elsynia will be rejoining us in a couple of days; leaving the letter with us will save you either a wait or a trek across the province. And correct me if I'm wrong, but it'll be much harder to find her without a Stone to follow."

The grey warrior appeared to contemplate this for a minute but the idea of hanging around on Nirn for any longer than absolutely necessary seemed to decide it for him. "Very well." He dropped the letter on the ground, ignoring Parwen's outstretched hand, and turned to leave.

Tirion realised with a jolt that there was still a question left unanswered and called after him. "Wait!"

The Master-Wizard's shout halted him. "What is it _now_?" The Dremora hissed, displeased.

"_Who_ sent you with this message?" Tirion asked, his curiosity mingled with suspicion.

The Kynval's tone dripped irritation and impatience. "A man. Called himself Martin." With that the warrior turned on his heel and strode away, vanishing with a ripple of red Conjuration magic, presumably returning to Oblivion now that his task was complete.

Silence reigned momentarily. Parwen recovered first. "I wonder if Martin's aware of the irony in using a Dremora as a messenger."

"I'm sure he is," Tirion said dryly, overcoming his own surprise. He was busy turning over the implications of the entire conversation in his mind as the Bosmer bent to pick up the dropped letter.

"I'm surprised that Martin trusted a Dremora not to sneak a peek at this. It's probably important, or at least related to the war," Parwen commented, examining the letter with interest as she wandered over to stand next to him.

Tirion shook his head. "Not all Dremora serve Mehrunes Dagon, you know. And beyond that, they're bound to the will of the summoner. It's possible to order them not to read the messages that they deliver."

The Wood Elf angled a curious glance at him. "You speak as if you've seen it before."

"That's because I have. It's fairly common practise at the University for mages to use summoned beings as messengers – at least, it is for those that have the skill to do so."

"No wonder he looked so irritated. It would annoy me too, being yanked to another plane of existence, just to run what amounts to an errand for someone." Parwen was silent for a few seconds, then she looked up at the Master-Wizard. "I was thinking..."

"Dangerous, that."

"Oh, shut up. What that Dremora said...about being able to track Elsynia by using the magical energy that the Sigil Stone gave off...I didn't know that was possible. I didn't even know that Sigil Stones gave off energy." Her tone was troubled. "And if that's the case, El _does _have a Stone with her – the one she took from Kvatch. Why didn't he couldn't detect _that_?"

"Well, first off, the fact that the Stones emit traceable magic is news to me too." Tirion leaned back in the saddle, stretching his back muscles. He had been piecing together information and conjecture in his mind ever since the Kynval had mentioned it, and thought he might have arrived at a reasonable conclusion. "Much about the Daedra remains a mystery, even to us mages. But I did notice that he said the only Sigil Stone to have been taken from Oblivion _recently_ was the one from the Anvil Gate. I can only surmise that the emitted energy grows fainter the longer it is removed from its native dimension. Perhaps the energy the Stones radiate is in fact excess power soaked up from the beam of magic that they are suspended in, when they are used to anchor Oblivion Gates. The Kvatch Stone might no longer be detectable because the extra magic it absorbed has dissipated."

"Oh." Parwen appeared to consider this. "Nice theory. Makes sense." She seemed comforted by his explanation. "I don't really fancy the idea of Dremora being able to find me either by that method," she explained when she saw Tirion's questioning expression. "I'll have to let Elsynia know as soon as possible too, in case she takes it into her head to go charging through another Gate," the Bosmer added thoughtfully.

Tirion patted the top of her head. "If you're worried about them tracking you using it, just leave the Stone somewhere secure. You're welcome to store it at the University if you can't find anywhere else; I'm sure the other mages would leap at the chance to have a look at a genuine Sigil Stone."

"I'll bet." Parwen snorted. "Thanks for the advice." She poked his leg. "Shouldn't you be off if you want to get where you're going any time soon?"

The High Elf jolted slightly in surprise, realising she was right. The sun was hidden by the grey expanse of cloud far overhead, but the sense of time passing made him think that it was about midday. "Ah, I think you may be right."

"Of course I'm right," Parwen rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Off with you."

Tirion nodded. "With any luck, I'll see all of you soon enough." A sharp dig in Ebony's flanks set the horse moving rapidly, carrying the Master-Wizard away over the bridge.

xxx

Parwen watched Tirion until he was out of sight, then transferred her attention to the piece of parchment still clutched in her right hand. She studied the outside of the letter. It was just plain white parchment, sealed with unmarked red wax and it bore only Elsynia's name on the front, in neatly inked characters. It looked anything but extraordinary, but the first stirrings of excitement rose in her nevertheless. If it was from Martin, then it must be important. It likely even told Elsynia what the next item needed for the ritual to enter Paradise was.

The temptation to open it was overwhelming.

_I shouldn't..._

xxx

Ah-Malz was just finishing the last of his enormous plateful of food when the door to the bar flew open with a bang. He shot to his feet, alert for trouble but then relaxed as he took in the familiar figure in the doorway. The next thing he knew, Parwen was hanging off his arm, talking in a frantic rush and waving a piece of parchment wildly at him.

"– we need to go! Right now!" she finished breathlessly.

"Slow down," he rasped. "I didn't understand a word of that. Where are we going and why?"

The archer launched into another confusing spiel. The Argonian heard her mention a letter somewhere in the blur of words and connected it to the parchment that she was gesturing wildly with. Correctly deducing that he would get nothing sensible from her when she was like this, Ah-Malz whipped the letter from her unresisting hand and read it for himself, in the hope that it might make more sense than Parwen did:

_**Elsynia,**_

_**My apologies for the sudden summons, but it is imperative that you return as soon as possible. Another Gate has opened in the mountains around Bruma, and **__**Jauffre has **__**asked that you lend your assistance to the City Guard in closing it; you are the only one that we know of that has any experience in doing so.**_

_**My thanks,**_

_**Martin**_

The Warder looked up from the parchment at Parwen. "You opened Elsynia's letter?" he rumbled disapprovingly.

"Yes, yes, I know, but _look _at what was written!" the Bosmer cried impatiently, waving aside the minor detail of privacy invasion. "You're missing the big picture! He's asking for her help but it'll be at least four days before Elsynia comes back, and then another two days before she can ride all the way to Bruma! They need someone with experience closing Oblivion Gates to help them _now_!"

"You are proposing that we go in her place," Ah-Malz realised.

"Yes! If we ride hard, we can maybe make it in a day and a half," Parwen said, almost quivering with impatience.

Ah-Malz understood her concern. The ruin of Kvatch had made a thoroughly disquieting sight, even when seen from a distance. The idea that Bruma might end up the same way was not a happy thought. "Then let's leave immediately." He picked his pack up from the floor and swung it onto his back, unwilling to waste words on further pointless debate when it was clear what they should do.

Parwen almost sprinted from the bar in her eagerness to get going. Ah-Malz paused only to scribble down a note for Elsynia, explaining their absence, and left it with the Feed Bag's barkeeper.

An half an hour later, the two warriors left the Imperial City at a hard gallop, heading up the Red Road towards Bruma.

xxx

_She knew she was dreaming immediately. The house had never looked like this; never in reality anyway._

_The swordswoman walked through the hallways of her home. They seemed to stretch on forever and were at once both strange and familiar. Sunlight flooded in through the enormous windows, so bright that the world beyond the glass was hidden by the intense white glow. It heightened the sense of unreality; the feeling that nothing existed outside of the house._

_And there they were. Standing at the end of the corridor. Just as she knew they would be. The dream was predictable; identical in nearly every way to the ones that had come before. It always contained the same memories, always invoked the same powerful mix of emotion.__ And those were the worst kind, the dream-memories. Not-quite truths, but not-quite lies either.__ Familiarity, however, did not dull the sharp pain that tore at her and the swordswoman was powerless to change the outcome of the dream. Her limbs were not her own and she could do nothing but continue down the corridor towards the two figures silhouetted by the light._

_Bare feet pattered across the honey-coloured floorboards and a small figure cannoned into her. The swordswoman swayed slightly from the impact and a pair of slim arms were thrown around her waist, squeezing her in an eager hug. She looked down into a pair of delighted green eyes, framed by a halo of wild coppery-red waves. _

"_Elsynia!" Nerissa's voice was filled with warmth and welcome. The sunlight of the dreamscape brightened everything about __her sister__; the nine-year old's golden skin positively glowed with reflected light. Her eyes were vivid, intense; almost too brilliant a green to be natural. The sun played along every strand of her hair, brightening it to the deep, rich crimson of rubies. _

_If the sight of the unearthly, light-edged child had not enough been to convince Elsynia that she was dreaming, the next person who stepped forwards was._

"…_Daenlin,__" she murmured, staring at the boy. Her brother. Grief punched Elsynia in the chest, stealing her breath; old wounds split open and wept blood. _

_The eleven-year old boy who looked back at her was almost the complete inverse of her sister. If Nerissa was fire and sunlight and emeralds, Daenlin was ink and snow and shadow. His hair and eyes were so deep a brown as to look black; except in direct light, as they were now. The sun shone through his hair, lightening it to rich mahogany. His skin was pale, white, not even a hint of gold to betray his Altmer heritage. _

_Elsynia couldn't help but think he looked like Nerissa's shadow; monochrome next to her vibrant colour. Dark to her light. Because, despite the two year age gap, despite the stark contrast in their immediate appearances, her siblings were remarkably similar. Same height, same slight build, same fine-boned features –they used to tease him about being pretty, she recalled, and her heart tore a little more at the memory – same stubborn glint in the eyes and the same beautiful, radiant smile._

"_Daenlin," Elsynia breathed again, choking on his name, her throat closing up with emotion. She tightened her arms around Nerissa and continued staring at her brother over her sister's shoulder. The boy only tilted his head. He made no move to come closer. His face was unfathomable, expressionless. Strands of feathery hair fell into his dark eyes. Was that accusation that flickered through their depths? Did she only imagine the anger tightening the corners of his mouth? _

"_I'm sorry," Elsynia whispered, anguished. "I…I couldn't…I'm so sorry." Daenlin merely stared back, silent. Reproachful._

_Then she felt the dream shifting, warping, dissolving around her. "No!" The swordswoman cried, dread rising within her. As painful as it was to stand in that sunlit place, surrounded by the memory of her brother, it was infinitely preferable to what always came next –_

Then suddenly, mercifully, Elsynia was abruptly wrenched from the dream, dragged back to consciousness. She shot upright in her sleeping bag, unable to stop the involuntary cry that burst from her lips. It echoed in the stillness of the dark, silent forest around her.

A moment passed before the disorientation of sleep left her and the trembling elf realised what had woken her. Something had brushed against her wards; specifically against the one designed to protect her while she slept and alert her to danger.

Light burst from her hand, shooting up into the air and forming a dazzling globe that illuminated the clearing. Elsynia searched for the intruder and caught a flash of glowing eyes, bright with reflected light. Then the wolf melted away into the shadows of the forest.

The swordswoman released the spell and the ball of light dissipated. She was suffused with gratefulness for creature's timely interruption; for the reprieve it had granted her. For now, at least, she had avoided suffering through her worst memory yet again in her sleep.

Elsynia was filled with the oddest mix of relief, anger and grief. The sadness was the hardest to deal with it. It was old and painful, stirred up out of deepest recesses of her mind by the dream. To her horror, she realised her cheeks were wet. Angrily, the mer swiped away the tears with the back of her left hand. It shook slightly and Elsynia was privately appalled by her reaction. It was painful to know that she could be so easily undone by a mere memory.

The elf grabbed hold of her anger and forced herself to concentrate on that instead; of the two, rage was so much easier to bear than grief. _What's wrong with me? I haven't had that nightmare for over two years._

Elsynia made herself take deep, calming breaths, attempting clear her mind and reign in her emotions. She forced the grief back down within herself, tamping it down hard and locking it tightly away as deeply as she could manage. She had had a lot of practice in doing so but it took still several minutes before she felt normal enough to function.

Knowing from experience that she would get no more sleep that night, Elsynia began to pack up her things, ready for a – usually despised – early start. The nightmare had left her feeling drained emotionally but the adrenaline circling her system ensured her body was wide awake, if not well-rested.

By the time she had dismantled the various protective wards encircling her chosen campsite, rolled up her sleeping bag and stashed her belongings in Snowflake's saddlebags, the first faint light of dawn was breaking over the eastern horizon.

Elsynia led Snowflake by the reins out of the thick undergrowth of the forest. They had camped near the edge and soon emerged onto the Blue Road, south of Cheydinhal. The elf swung herself into the saddle. A sharp dig in the ribs sent the bay mare springing forward in a fast canter and they set off up the road, hoof beats ringing on the stony ground.

It was midday before they reached Cheydinhal. The day had turned out to be dismal; the sky was an uninspiring grey and a cold rain had hissed down steadily all morning. Elsynia just hunched inside her spare cloak, miserable, and tried to think warm thoughts.

Horse and rider continued on past Cheydinhal and began ascending the steep hill on the far side of the city. If memory served the swordswoman correctly, Fort Farragut was very close by. They followed the winding road as it meandered back and forth across the hillside and Elsynia was forced to stop several times to dispatch the aggressive wildlife roaming around near the path. Eventually the mer glimpsed a flash of white stone through the trees.

_Finally. _Elsynia leaned forward in relief and urged Snowflake on a little faster. The mare obliged and as they rounded the last bend in the road Fort Farragut came into view. Crumbling white walls overrun with dark green vegetation greeted them. The forest crowded in closely on all sides, trees growing right up against the battlements in a way that never would have been tolerated had the fort still been in active service.

The swordswoman reined in Snowflake and the bay mare slowed to a walk, before stopping completely. Elsynia remained motionless in the saddle for a few moments longer, simply watching and listening. The area was still and silent as far as she could tell. The infernal rain had finally slackened off. The only sound she could hear was the barely audible dripping as water slid off stonework and plant life alike. A lone warbling cry echoed through the trees – the call of a solitary woodland bird. The air was cool, moist; refreshing. It brushed her skin with gentle fingers and filled her nose with a rich, loamy smell. Despite her dislike of getting wet, the elf had always loved the scent of the earth after it rained.

Dismounting, Elsynia led Snowflake by the reins through the knee-high sea of grass surrounding Fort Farragut. The stalks were yellowing now, withered by the autumnal frosts, but her mind's eye painted in the vivid colours of summer; the lush, vibrant green and the brilliant hues of the wildflowers. She could almost hear the lazy drone of bumblebees, feel the heat of the sun warming her bare skin – then Snowflake snorted and she snapped back to herself.

_Now is not the time to be daydreaming. _The mer was annoyed with herself. No matter how intensely she longed for summer to roll around again – or rather, roll _back_, to the summer just past, before everything went to hell and when the only Daedra she had to worry about was the occasional summoned creature – it wasn't going to happen any quicker just because she wished it so.

Not to mention the swordswoman was still deeply uneasy about the contract…agreement…job offer…whatever it was, that the Dark Brotherhood was extending to her. _I need to keep my wits about me if I want to find out what the hell is actually going on here._

Judging by the complete lack of life visible above ground, the meeting was most likely going to take place in the network of tunnels and rooms _under_ the ruined fort. Elsynia had already guessed as much and was casting around for a suitable place to attach Snowflake's reins to, when a sudden movement caught her eye.

Her sword was in her hand before she realised it was just another horse; a black mare had wandered into view, stopping to leisurely crop the shorter grass amongst the trees. A sigh that was equal parts relief and irritation escaped the elf as she lowered the blade.

However, a closer look at said horse was enough to make Elsynia decide that Snowflake was not going to be tied up anywhere near it. As tough and cantankerous as the bay was, the strangely demonic-looking black horse looked as if she could quite happily eat Snowflake for breakfast.

The swordswoman led the bay mare around the far side of Fort Farragut, watched until they were out of sight by eerily intelligent red eyes. Then she looped Snowflake's reins over a tree branch – loosely – and leaned in to mutter in the horse's ear, "If she looks like she's going to take a bite, run for it."

The mare huffed as if in agreement and despite feeling abruptly rather silly, Elsynia couldn't shake the notion that the odd black horse might actually be capable of something of the sort.

Unhooking the sacks tied to Snowflake's saddle, the swordswoman slung them over her shoulders before jogging back around the perimeter to the gap in the crumbling wall. Stepping over the boundary line – and steadfastly ignoring the pair of red eyes boring into her back – the elf headed straight for the small wooden door set into the base of the interior wall. A well-placed strike shattered the weak, rotten wood around the lock and then she ducked inside, casting a Night-Eye spell as she did so.

Elsynia descended a short flight of stairs and scanned the area around her. The tunnel was dank, cold and dark. Traces of the white stone remained but much of the brickwork had fallen away from the walls, exposing the bare earth underneath. Piles of rotten wood lay scattered here and there, where barrels and crates had moldered away over the years.

She had been here once before and it had looked much the same. From what she could remember, that while this particular fort wasn't all that large, it _was_ filled with some tough undead. She'd mown down a whole crop of skeletons in order to clean the loot – such as it was – out of this place.

Therefore, the swordswoman wasn't all that surprised when an axe-wielding undead shambled into view at the end of the tunnel. Her longsword and shield were readied in an instant. No sooner had she done so, did it catch sight of her. With creaking groan, the skeleton altered its path and broke into a sort of ungainly run, heading straight towards her.

Elsynia tensed, all her muscles starting to sing with adrenaline. She dropped the sacks and moved into a defensive stance, ready to avoid the first blow of that enormous axe. She had been on edge all morning ever since her nightmare, nerves raw and thrumming. The unwelcome memories stirred up, along with the mixture of emotions attached to them, had filled her with the overwhelming need _to do something. _But the enemies had all been in her head; there had been no physical release for the built-up tension.

The swordswoman deftly avoided the first swing of the skeleton's axe. It crashed down through the space where she had formerly been, sparks flying as it struck the stonework.

Battle was more than welcome.

_This – this at least is an enemy I can fight._

xxx

It was quiet in the great hall of Cloud Ruler Temple. Martin could hear the low crackle of flames, the occasional snapping noise as the enormous fireplace exhaled a cloud of sparks. The distant clash of steel on steel was audible from the ongoing sparring sessions in the courtyard. Every now and then, the doors would open and close as a couple of Blades passed through the hall. Other than that, it was relatively peaceful.

Not that the heir to the Empire was feeling anywhere close to peaceful at present. With a deep sigh, he laid down his quill and gingerly closed the cover of the Mysterium Xarxes. Even though he knew methods of protecting itself from its evil, just reading the accursed tome left him feeling tired. An oppressive weight seemed to drape itself over his shoulders like a heavy mantle every time he opened the book.

Martin leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his eyes. Despite his exhaustion, a sense of tired satisfaction pervaded his being. Even with the added strain of struggling against the effect the book had on its reader, he felt sure he was close to uncovering the second item needed to open the way into Paradise. _It shouldn't take longer than another day or two..._

The ex-priest was broken from his speculation as something registered in his subconscious; the noise of swordplay in the courtyard had halted. Not unusual in itself, but as he listened harder, he could make out the sound of distant shouting and the thrum of running feet.

"My lord..." Baurus materialised at his elbow, looking uneasily in the direction of the main door. The Redguard's hand was on the hilt of his katana.

Martin had half-risen from his seat when the door burst open. Baurus' sword flashed out of its sheath with a steely rasp but he lowered the katana again almost instantly as Jauffre came striding into the hall.

"Sire, if you could come with me for a moment? A...situation has arisen." the Grandmaster requested. The Breton looked harried and older than ever. Martin sympathised.

"Of course." The future Emperor reined in his curiosity and moved swiftly up the great hall, Baurus shadowing his footsteps. The three of them walked out into the courtyard and then Jauffre strode to the top of the wide flight of stairs leading down to the main gateway. He beckoned Martin. The heir moved to stand next to him, peered down the stairway and through the open gates; only to be met with the sight of an Argonian and a Bosmer, surrounded and held at sword point by a group of Blades, whose expressions ranged from suspicion to outright hostility.

The red-scaled Argonian was tall and muscular, clad in steel armour from head to toe and wrapped in a thick black travelling cloak. The hilt of an enormous claymore jutted over his shoulder and he looked strong enough to wield the massive blade with ease. His golden reptilian eyes regarded the circle of Blades impassively.

Next to her hulking companion, the Bosmer seemed very slight and diminutive, though in actuality she was probably above average height for a Wood Elf. She appeared to be very beautiful, Martin noted appreciatively, though her expression was drawn and anxious, dark brown eyes regarding the Blades with trepidation. Her chestnut hair was twisted up into a bun but a few locks had slipped loose and the strong breeze blew the curls across her face. She wore a suit of chainmail, covered by a warm cloak, and had a silver bow slung across her back; Martin noticed her fingers fluttering nervously, as though she were itching to grasp it, at the very least for reassurance. He knew as well as she did though, that such a gesture would most likely see her impaled on the katanas of the nearest Blades.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene, the future Emperor turned to Jauffre, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "What exactly is going on? Who are they?"

The Grandmaster sighed and leant on the wall. "I was hoping you could tell me. They claim to be friends of Elsynia and that they have come in her stead to help us close this new Gate. However, we have no way of verifying their identities."

"I see." Martin looked at the two warriors with a mixture of amusement and weariness. "That is a problem."

xxx

Parwen watched the Blades and the Blades watched her. It was completely silent, apart from the quiet sound of breathing. The wind whipped up the snow and set it swirling around them, tiny ice crystals peppering the bare skin of their faces.

The archer shifted her weight from one leg to the other, relieving the aching muscles. The tension of the little standoff was getting to her. She sighed internally, all-too-aware of the eyes of the Blades tracking her every movement. _We really didn't think this through very well._

xxx

The distant clash of metal on metal echoed through the underground passages of Fort Farragut. Lucien kept half an ear on the conflict but the majority of his attention remained on his paperwork. It wouldn't sort itself, unfortunately, and frankly if the half-breed couldn't get past the Dark Guardians, she wouldn't be of much use to the Brotherhood anyway. Besides, he had a feeling she would make it. One didn't gain the attention of the Night Mother by being weak.

The assassin was absorbed in the details of an important contract in Chorrol, when suddenly the sound of several fiery explosions reached his ears. That in itself wouldn't have drawn his attention, if not for the fact it was accompanied by the unmistakable roar of falling masonry.

Lucien looked up, the slightest of frowns creasing his brow. Years of habit kept him from showing much of his feelings on his face, despite the fact he was alone. _What in Sithis' name is she __**doing**__? _

A hundred yards away, the elf in question was in fact currently surveying the mess she had made. Bones and various pieces of armour littered the passageway, along with several smoking craters in the floor and walls. Elsynia winced at a little at the section of the ceiling that had caved in. Perhaps she had been a little overzealous with the fire spells.

Despite her mishap, the swordswoman actually better felt better now. Her nerves – unsettled since her nightmare that morning – had finally receded and she had shifted into a state closer to calm. A good fight could do that.

Skirting around the rubble, Elsynia continued along the passageway and within half an hour, she had been through Fort Farragut in its entirety – setting off every single trap along the way of course. _Bastard, _she grumbled internally, slipping a hand under her armour to rub at her shoulder, where a falling mace trap had caught her a glancing blow._ I bet he weeds out visitors like this. Only the really determined even manage to get to see him._

Which, Elsynia thought as she looked around, was half of the problem. She had been around the whole fort and hadn't seen hide nor hair of the assassin she was supposed to be meeting. The mer knew he was here – the faint pink shimmer that her Detect Life spell picked up sporadically was proof of that – but none of the passages seemed to lead to him, no matter what kind of circular route she took.

With a sigh of frustration, Elsynia renewed her spell and headed to the spot where the life signature had seemed strongest. As before, she arrived at a dead end. The swordswoman stared hard at the blank rock wall, going over the fort's layout in her head for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Then an idea occurred and, on impulse, Elsynia reached out to run her hand over the wall. She remembered exploring ruined forts before and finding hidden rooms behind collapsible walls and false panels. If there was indeed a secret room of some sort, there also ought to be some kind of lever...

Her fingers brushed over a nondescript patch of rock and a tingling sensation touched her magical senses. _Aha! _

Something was hiding behind an Illusion-Alteration spell. Elsynia pushed her hand against the small patch of 'rock', applying both physical and magical pressure –

And then abruptly felt disorientated. According to her fingers, they were touching a thin, flexible membrane-like ward, but her brain and eyes insisted that she was just pointlessly pushing against a solid rock wall.

The swordswoman gritted her teeth – recognising the insidious suggestion of the Illusion spell nudging her thoughts – and increased the pressure she was putting on the ward. It was a strong shield enchantment but Elsynia's willpower was stronger still. She pushed hard, ignoring the attempts of the Illusion magic to confuse her mind, and seconds later the ward broke.

An unconscious smile tugged at her lips as a small, dark hole appeared in the wall and the clouding touch on her mind vanished. The elf reached into it through the dissipating sparks of magicka and, sure enough, her searching fingers grasped a lever. She pulled it down and a low, rumbling noise filled the passageway. Elsynia backed up a few steps and swiped her longsword from its scabbard, watching as a section of the rock wall to the left of the lever descended into the ground.

A short passageway was revealed, terminating in an iron gate, and beyond that was a room lit with the flickering orange glow of torches. And the strong pink shimmer of a life signature.

Elsynia paused. She had been chewing this over for days and she still didn't really know what to expect what to expect from the impending encounter. And she hated surprises; particularly of the potentially lethal variety.

If Lachance had been completely honest – unlikely – they would be making some sort of bizarre trade agreement. She would hand over the two heavy sacks she was lugging around, filled with dismembered pieces of Daedra and various bits of unfriendly plant life, in exchange for gold. And that would be all. _Even in my head, it sounds ridiculous._

Nevertheless, Elsynia steeled herself and moved forward. She was here after all, and she wasn't about to back out now, just because she still harbouring suspicions about the truthfulness of an assassin. She would be vacillating for _years_ if she expected proof of that.

The elf stepped over the sunken section of wall and strode down the short tunnel. She unlatched the iron gate and warily stepped through into the room beyond. It was surprisingly large, and looked to be in much better repair than the rest of the fort; from what she could see of it anyway. The high ceiling was hidden in shadows. They clung thickly to the room, pooling in the corners and around the two massive pillars supporting the roof. A couple of torches were scattered around, creating small areas of dim light in an otherwise dark room. They illuminated long banners draped over the silver-grey stonework, emblazoned with the emblem of the Dark Brotherhood; a black handprint within a pale yellow oval, on a rich crimson background.

"Greetings, elf. I see you've finally arrived." The deep, cold voice made her stomach lurch unpleasantly, the sound triggering her memory of the shock of waking up to find an assassin in her home. Elsynia's gaze snapped to the room's sole occupant, who was still partially obscured by the glittering haze of her Detect Life enchantment. The elf released the steady trickle of magicka she had been feeding the spell and the halo of pink light died away, allowing her to see him more clearly.

Lachance was standing across the room from her, holding a book and watching her with a piercing stare. The assassin wore the same heavy black robes he had worn in her house in Skingrad. However this time his hood was pushed back and she could see he was an Imperial, though the details of his features were obscured by distance and dim lighting.

Elsynia straightened, consciously shaking off the remembered fear. She couldn't afford to hand him the psychological advantage and besides, her pride refused to allow her to show any sort of weakness to the man. And there was no real reason to be afraid; he no longer had the upper hand. _The strength of the assassin lies in stealth, in taking advantage of a moment of vulnerability, and – particularly in the case of the Dark Brotherhood – in fear. Right now, he's no different from any other opponent and I am hardly incapable of defending of myself. _

With this in mind, the swordswoman replied to his greeting with her usual frankness. "Yes, well, it took me a while to navigate that obstacle course you so thoughtfully set up for your guests. Correct me if I'm wrong, but greeting prospective business partners with a shower of poisoned darts seems rather counter-productive."

An amused smirk tugged at Lachance's mouth as he shut the book he was holding. The assassin placed it on the desk to his left and then moved across the room towards her. "I was sure that someone of your ability would have no trouble with the security measures put in place to keep out the riff-raff," he said smoothly, coming to a halt a short distance away from Elsynia.

_Uh-huh. That's a nice way of saying that you were seeing if I was up to scratch. _The light of a nearby torch gave the mer her first good look at the assassin. With a twinge of surprise, Elsynia realised he was rather handsome – if one ignored the cold, predatory stare. Then again, she was sure he was perfectly capable of acting charming. Morbidly, she wondered how many people had been fatally taken in by that deceptively good-looking face.

Lachance's gaze slid down and fastened on her hand. "Are you planning on using that?"

The elf realised she was still holding her longsword unsheathed in her right hand. Her eyes narrowed at him. _Well, no point beating about the bush. Might as well get right down to it. _"It depends. Did you really call me here so we can finalise a deal to exchange alchemical ingredients for money?"

"Why?" he looked faintly amused. "Did you think I asked you to come here so that I could kill you? Please. I would hardly have needed to dream up such an elaborate ruse."

Elsynia matched his stare. "I thought as much. But it was the only sensible explanation I could come up with."

Lachance arched an eyebrow. "Is it so difficult to believe that the Dark Brotherhood might wish to make a trade agreement with someone in your unique position?"

"Yes," said Elsynia flatly.

The assassin tapped one gloved finger idly against the hilt of his own sword. "You are hardly capable of making an informed judgement."

Despite her best efforts, the swordswoman felt her temper rise a few notches at his patronising tone. "Well, from what I _have _heard, it seems a strange thing for the Dark Brotherhood to do."

Lachance gave her a condescending look. "That is because the only information the general public knows about us, is what we want them to know. Like any other organisation, the Brotherhood _does_ need to purchase various supplies on occasion and we do not inform the world every time we contact a merchant."

"Then why me? I'm hardly a merchant."

"I was under the impression that this had already been explained." His tone said plainly that he thought she was an idiot.

"I'd rather hear it directly from you, if you don't mind," Elsynia said, still waiting for the snag in this arrangement.

"Hmm. Well, the Brotherhood needs to get alchemy ingredients from somewhere and you are in a perfect position to collect some of the rarest varieties. You can also gather much larger quantities than are available on the general market and, unlike many merchants, you do not quibble over prices." He paused and raised an eyebrow. "Do you understand _now_?"

"I doubt that many people would dare to make a fuss about the price of goods when dealing with a group of assassins." Elsynia managed to keep her voice level with some difficulty. His polite derision and barely veiled mockery of her intelligence made her sword hand twitch reflexively. If nothing else, talking to this man was a lesson in self-control.

A flicker of amusement passed over Lachance's face. "You would think so, wouldn't you?" he agreed calmly. "The constant stupidity of some people never ceases to amaze me."

Elsynia made a conscious effort to push her rising anger down. _You can't kill him, remember? That would piss off the Brotherhood for sure._ "Okay," she said, pulling the conversation back on track. "So what you're saying is that you will pay me to fetch alchemy ingredients. And that is all the Brotherhood wants from me."

"Yes," Lachance agreed. "That is all."

The swordswoman gave him a suspicious, searching look. He looked back, expressionless; his dark eyes opaque and unreadable. _His explanation makes sense, but I can't shake the feeling that he's not telling me everything. I was so certain that the offer in the letter was just to lure me in; that I'd arrive here and __**then **__I would get the full story of what is expected of me. Though maybe it was naïve of me to expect Lachance to just lay whatever additional demands the Dark Brotherhood might make out on the table._

"I see. And is there anything else of importance I ought to know?"

The Imperial appeared to consider her request. "No. You are, however, free to back out of the agreement at any time – although, of course, we will also revoke our protection if you make that decision."

Elsynia narrowed her eyes. They were giving her awful lot of freedom and it should have been reassuring. Instead it made her uneasy. _This offer slants too heavily in my favour._

The silence stretched as they stared at each other. _I could always turn it down right now. Walk away. But what would that accomplish? I would be right back to where I was before. If I stay I won't have to worry about Dark Brotherhood assassins stalking me in addition to the Mythic Dawn; plus, if they __**do **__make any more demands of me that I don't like, I can always leave then. Although they might not be very happy about that either._

"Hmm. Fine. I don't believe you, and I certainly don't trust you, but we're clearly getting nowhere here," Elsynia said bluntly. "You're not going to tell me anyway, so let's just get on with this. Where do you want these sacks?"

Something indefinable flickered through Lachance's eyes, so fast the elf was unsure she had actually seen it. Then it was gone and the assassin waved a gloved hand to his right. "As you wish. Over there, if you please."

Elsynia strode to the indicated table, taking care not to turn her back on the Imperial and dropped the sacks. She began to unpack them and Lachance moved to stand on the far side of the table, untying the second bag. The two worked swiftly, remaining silent, and within a few minutes the surface was covered in neatly arranged rows of Daedra hearts, Clannfear claws, Daedroth teeth, Spiddal sticks, Harrada roots and Bloodgrass.

Lachance stepped back and examined them, his gaze flicking over the ingredients; Elsynia waited while he calculated their value. Then the Imperial vanished into the back of the room, hidden by the clinging shadows. The swordswoman's sharp ears caught the creak of wood and the quiet clink of coins muffled by fabric. Lachance emerged a few moments later, holding a large bag. "Your payment," he said silkily. Did she imagine that flash of satisfaction in his eyes?

Elsynia reached out and took it from him, her movements slow and wary. The gold felt heavy in her arms and as she met the assassin's gaze, she had a sudden sense of the sealing of a pact; of the jaws of a trap closing shut around her. "Thanks," the mer said flatly, her mood abruptly even worse than before. She wanted nothing more than to leave. "I'll return when I have more."

The swordswoman was almost out of the room, when Lachance's voice drifted across to her. "Oh, one more thing, before you go. Occasionally you might have to deal with other members of my organization, in the event that I am not here when you return to Fort Farragut. If that is the case I will leave you instructions on how to find them."

Elsynia whirled around. "Why?"

The assassin looked up from where he was starting to divide up the alchemy supplies into piles. "I am a very busy man; I have better things to do than sit here and wait around all day, on the off chance that you might drop in," he said sardonically. "You may be a Hero, elf, but the world does not revolve around you."

Elsynia's fingers curled reflexively as fury flared hot and tight in her chest. _How dare he? I've never made any such – never behaved as if –_

She was on the point of opening her mouth to deliver a biting retort, when she noticed the peculiar gleam in Lachance's eyes; the calculating way he was watching her. As if he was waiting to see her response.

Surprise shot through the swordswoman. _He's goading me on purpose. Testing my reactions to everything he does._ She couldn't fathom his reasons but the realisation cooled the heat of her temper. It enabled Elsynia to return his stare with curiosity and mild annoyance instead of rage. "I'm well aware of that," she said levelly. "And I'd thank you not to insult me in such a manner." The threat hung unspoken in her voice.

Lachance straightened a little, his gaze sharpening. A flicker of triumph ran through the mer. _He thought that I would explode._

"I'll keep that in mind," the assassin replied. His smooth tone contrasted with sharp glint in his eyes. "And if we are being _polite _–" there was an undercurrent in his voice that she couldn't quite decipher – "then I'll expect the same courtesy."

_If you can refrain from openly insulting me, I can keep a lid on my temper. _"Fine." Elsynia gave a short nod and turned to leave. "Goodbye, Lachance."

As she strode away down the tunnel, his voice drifted after her, faintly mocking. "Goodbye, Hero of Kvatch."

xxx

Lucien waited until the mer's footsteps had faded away into the distance. Then he returned his attention to sorting the Harrada roots into bundles, and spoke aloud to the apparently empty room. "You can come out now, Delan."

There was a pause. Then one of the shadows clinging to the corners of the chamber moved, detaching itself from the main body of darkness. The lean, leather-clad form of his Silencer padded forward into the circle of torchlight, stopping a respectful distance away. "Speaker?"

The senior assassin didn't look up from his task, deft fingers looping twine around the Harrada roots and tying them together tightly. "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

"Almost of it." Delan shifted slightly. "I arrived and realised that you had company. Upon seeing who it was, I thought it better not to announce my presence."

Lucien nodded, still not taking his eyes off his work. "A wise decision. I doubt she would have taken kindly to you." His Silencer snorted softly in agreement and the faintest trace of a smirk appeared on the Imperial's face. He swept the parcels of Harrada roots into a chest and started on the Clannfear claws. "I will fill you in later on anything you missed. For now, is there anything new to report?"

Delan straightened slightly, his demeanour becoming more formal. "Yes, good news. I met with J'Ghasta as per my orders and it was as you predicted. He was quite happy to volunteer his Silencer to shadow the Hero of Kvatch and keep tabs on her actions."

"I see." Lucien's neutral tone betrayed nothing of how pleased he was. "That _is _good news."

The Redguard frowned slightly. "Speaker, if I may ask, why are we handing this task over to someone else? Even if you cannot spare me, surely the other members of the Cheydinhal sanctuary are capable of surveillance?"

"Because, Brother," Lucien murmured, "The Black Hand is rife with suspicion. We are watching each other's movements far more than usual and I, in particular, am being scrutinised because I am in charge of our little 'saviour'. In offering the task of keeping an eye on her to another member of the Black Hand, I am showing that I have nothing to hide; that I am not using her to carry out nefarious plots against the Brotherhood." There was a hint of irony in his tone by the end of the statement.

Delan nodded, his expression unchanging. "I understand."

Silence fell, broken only by the rustle of Bloodgrass being arranged into neat bundles. The Redguard leaned against a pillar, watching his superior methodically sorting ingredients. Several minutes passed without either of them talking. Then –

"Speaker?"

"Yes?" Lucien had been waiting for Delan to bring up whatever it was that was bothering him ever since the Silencer had first stepped out of the shadows. To almost anyone else, the younger man was about as expressive as a rock, but the Imperial had learned the nuances of his body language in the time they had spent together. Right now, the slight shifting of his weight from foot to foot was betraying Delan's agitation. "What do you wish to ask?"

"Why have not made an attempt to ensnare Elsynia more thoroughly in the Brotherhood?" the Silencer asked, the slightest hint of perplexed anxiety in his voice. "You have tied her to us with the barest of threads."

_Ah. I wondered if you would ask that. _The senior assassin laid down the Daedroth teeth he was holding and fixed Delan with a stare. _I see you are as bemused as the elf herself. _"Because any attempt at a stronger, more obvious binding would only ensure that we lose her forever."

The Redguard tilted his head questioningly and Lucien sighed internally. His apprentice still had a lot to learn, it seemed. "Delicacy is required. She will not join us, she will work for us only in the loosest sense – what reason could she possibly have to _save_ the Brotherhood? No. This elf must be trapped in the subtlest of ways. And by the time she realises it, it must be too late for her to back out."

xxx

Simplicia the Slow ambled leisurely through the Market District. It had been a good afternoon. A kindly Breton woman had pressed a small bag of septims into her hands, and so for once she was feeling comfortably full and reasonably happy. The Imperial beggar was just passing by the Feed Bag – and contemplating trying her luck near the gate into the Arena District – when a loud shriek echoed from the open door of the bar.

"They went to do _what?_"

Simplicia jumped with fright and then scuttled off to take cover behind some nearby crates. Raised voices tended to be accompanied by violence, and whatever was going on, she wanted no part of it. Not more than a second after she had ducked behind a barrel, a golden armour-clad figure came out of the Feed Bag and took off running down the street. It vanished with surprising speed, watched by an open-mouthed beggar.

…_You know, I could have __**sworn**__ that was the Hero of Kvatch._

Less than half an hour later, said Hero was tearing out of the Imperial City's stables on an irritated bay mare, heading up the Red Road towards Bruma and her absentee comrades.

* * *

**A/N: If you've read this far, you could leave a review, hmm? Please and thank you. :D**


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